Unearthed
by SigalShleifer
Summary: The Cold Case unit at District 21 is under new management, and Sergeant Kasia Kreczmar's first case may uncover secrets some at 21 would rather leave buried. Original characters; some profanity.
1. Chapter 1

The Cold Case bullpen was another world compared to the Intelligence war room, Olinsky thought. It was far quieter down here, darker, the environs reflecting the mission of the new team that had been brought in by the Commissioner to tackle District 21's backlog of unsolved cases, many of which dated back to Olinsky's early days on the job, and before.

Olinsky glanced around again. The central bullpen here was orderly chaos, just like Intelligence; open evidence boxes and case files strewn on the table, the board nearly filled with photos and notes, pictures linked together by lines and hastily scrawled notations connecting them. He was about to move closer to see what they were working on when someone spoke from behind him.

"Hello, Detective Olinsky. Can I help you?"

He spun to face the petite, dark-haired woman who had broken his reverie. He stuck his hand out. "Good to meet you, Sergeant Kreczmar." She took his hand, grasping it.

 _Strong, yet still feminine._ He nearly smiled at her frank appraisal of him from beneath level, dark brows. "You said my name right. I'm impressed. Please, call me Kasia."

"Al." He was reluctant to let go of her hand. "Unusual name. I've never heard it before."

"You probably never will again," she answered. "My brother and I are among the last to bear the name. The Nazis wiped out my entire family. They managed to smuggle my father out of Poland just before Hitler closed the border. My brother and I were the surprise of his old age."

"I'm sorry," Al responded at length. "Is that why you became a cop?"

"Mostly. I wanted to bring to justice to families who had waited a long time for justice, since my family never got any."

He nodded wordlessly, trying to imagine his entire family gone before he was even born. His mind would not go there. "You're young, to have made Sergeant already."

"Went through the Academy the summer after high school graduation. Did a couple years of service in the IDF, then came back to really dig in. Chicago is home."

"The IDF?"

"Israeli Defense Force. I have dual citizenship. One of the perks of the Holocaust."

"Is that your service number?" he gestured with his chin to the tattoo on her forearm.

"My grandmother's prisoner number. Auschwitz. My twin brother, Arie, has a corresponding tattoo, for my grandfather."

"How did you know my name?" asked Al.

"I read your jacket. I read everyone's, actually. I like to know who I'm going to be counting on."

Al nodded approvingly. "Voight tells me you have an impressive solve rate. One of the highest for cold cases in Chicago."

Her face lit up at that, and he saw her smile for the first time. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. Resolutely he pushed that thought and those that would follow quickly from his mind.

"So do you," she replied. "I have a great team. We came up through the ranks together. I'd be nothing without them. I'd introduce you, but I sent them both to lunch. Voight I already know, and Sergeant Platt is an old friend." _Hank Voight, who was quicksilver, lightning in a bottle with that cymbal-shiver voice like stone grating against stone and that mercurial, hair-trigger temper that served him so well. More a force of nature than a man._

"Burgess is also a friend. We've had a couple of girl's nights," Kasia went on. "Burgess brought in someone we were later able to tie to a burglary that ended in murder back in 1997. She's someone who just sort of became an immediate friend."

"She's good police. Don't believe everything she tells you about us, though," Al said, chuckling.

"Unfair advantage," countered Kasia, also laughing.

"It was Hank who requested you for Cold Case here," Al said, smiling enigmatically.

"I didn't know. I'll have to thank him later, or curse him. We've spent the last two months re-ordering the department, implementing an all new filing system. Every piece of evidence is now accounted for and electronically tagged. No accusations from the ivory tower or the D.A.'s office about slipshod practices from the 21st from now on. It was a daunting undertaking, and I'm glad it's done. We're getting our hands dirty now with cases, prioritizing them."

"I see you're already into something. What are you working on?"

"One of yours, actually. A missing girl, from 1987." She gestured him over to the board, watching his eyes as they moved over the old photos and newspaper articles. The photo in the center from which the lines that linked to the others spread out like rays from the sun held him. A gap-toothed girl of eight, posing for a school picture in front of the gray-blue background that had been standard back then.

"I remember her. Chynelle Kenner, gone without a trace, We never found her body, and whoever took her left no evidence. That one kept me up nights."

"Her mother still lives in the same house. Hoping her daughter will find her way home."

"I'm sorry we dropped the ball."

"You didn't. It was excellent detective work. There was just nothing to go on."

"Think there will be now?"

"Yeah. Time has a way of eroding this kind of stuff. I started with this case by listening to my gut. Very scientific, I know." She lifted an self-deprecating eyebrow.

"I miss the days when that was how it was done. No internet, no GPS tracking, just your gut and your instincts and the trusted few covering your back."

"Those days aren't gone, Al. Not as long as some of us are still living them."

"I hope you find her."

"We will."

He sighed heavily. "Forgot what I came down here for. Voight wanted me to ask you for everything you got on this." He handed Kasia a slip of paper with a case reference number, then followed her into the forest of floor-to-ceiling racks of evidence boxes. She fetched a rolling ladder and shimmied up, easily finding the box he wanted which she scanned with a device she pulled from her belt. She maneuvered down the ladder rungs with a practiced grace, balancing the box, and handed it to him, smiling smugly.

"Order from chaos," he said with a note of wonder as she stepped down from the bottom rung of the ladder. He had stolen a secret glance at her hand while she was retrieving the box. No wedding ring. Her smile told him she had seen anyway.

"Married to the job."

There was no need to reply. All was understood. She followed him to the door, where he hesitated, looking at the sign she had hung above the doorway. _Et Mortuus Loqui._

"What does that mean?" he asked her.

" _The dead speak_."

Al could only nod in reply. He found it difficult to leave, and knew he would be thinking about this unexpected encounter later, far more than he should.


	2. Chapter 2

Kasia and her number one, Audrey Ames, met early the next morning to plan the day's attack, the board looming in front of them like an accusation.

"Where's Julian?" Kasia asked ruefully.

"He's here, somewhere. Probably schmoozing with Platt. What's first?"

"Interviewing Chynelle Kenner's mother, in about an hour or so. Hopefully time will have knocked something loose, something we can use. Before I go, let's pull everything we can find on kids that went missing around the time Chynelle did, then let's look at those from the previous five years, and the five years after she was taken."

"I'll start with those missing five years previous," said Audrey. Their laptops were already open and waiting. Kasia began by searching the CPD database, and then the Center for Missing and Exploited Children. The data was compiling when Julian waltzed in bearing a cardboard tray with three cups of coffee, his laptop clenched under his arm. He set the tray down gingerly in front of Kasia, gesturing to the one empty slot.

"I tried to bribe Platt with the fourth cup," he said dejectedly.

"I'm afraid to ask what for," quipped Kasia.

"Information."

"On this case?"

"On the men of the Intelligence Unit. In case you haven't noticed, there's some serious eye candy up there, girlfriend."

"So I've seen."

He squealed at her, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Who'd you rather? Just between us?"

"No way I'm gonna answer that, Jules."

"I'll figure it out," he retorted.

"Yeah? You probably will. And I'll deny it."

"Platt actually likes you, Julian?" Audrey asked, dumbfounded.

"Yep. No one can resist my charms for long. I tried to convince her to put some teal highlights in her hair. It didn't go over too well."

"And the manhunt?"

"Also a bust. They're all straight."

 _Or married_ , Kasia thought soberly. "Speaking of hair, yours looks great. Very Cyndi Lauper." Kasia and Audrey never knew from week to week what color or style Julian would be sporting. They had used to bet on it regularly, but Julian always outsmarted them both. Julian Baird had the kind of mind an MIT grad student would kill for, and he could have long ago moved on to bigger and better things, but he could not leave the family they had forged together, and, like Audrey and Kasia, Cold Case work had gotten into his blood and settled into the marrow of his bones, and now nothing else would do.

Julian squealed again while Kasia and Audrey helped themselves to the coffee. "You brought Athena?"

Kasia nodded, swallowing a lukewarm sip of macchiato. "I cleared it with Platt. Athena is on staff now." Athena was a retired K9 officer Kasia had adopted a year ago, a trained cadaver dog that would now be available to anyone in the district who needed her services. At the mention of her name, the German Shepherd rose from her bed in Kasia's office and ambled over to thrust her nose into Julian's waiting hand. Athena had a strong, dark face and bright topaz eyes, and Kasia treasured her company. Athena was a better cop than some of the human variety Kasia had known.

"I didn't want her stuck at home all the time," Kasia told Julian. "The old girl still has a lot left to give."

"She looks happy to be back on the job."

"She knows where she belongs." Kasia had been given a great deal of autonomy on the job over the years, and she was grateful to see that continue here at 21, but she would not abuse the privilege or the trust that had been placed in her. "Let's get back to work," she prodded. She filled Julian in briskly on the data they were gathering.

"That's gonna add up to a lot of results," said Julian. "How do you want to narrow the search parameters? What are we looking for?"

"I don't know yet. Audrey, you look into the LKA's of the missing kids and correlate them by neighborhood. Flag any DD files for those addresses. I'll dig into the parents; arrest records, social and financial status, any possible enemies. Maybe we'll find a pattern, previous offenders matching the same MO, hunting in the same area. From there, we'll narrow it down. It's only the beginning, kids. We'll be writing _closed_ on these files and evidence boxes before you know it." Those were the moments they all lived for, the moments that made it all worth it, sliding those boxes back onto the shelves sealed with that one word, six letters that encapsulated their days and nights and nightmares and frustrated tears like a talisman.

Athena settled next to Julian's feet as they worked, and the only sounds to be heard then were the occasional sipping of coffee, typing, and the dull hum of the lights overhead.

May Kenner lived in the center of a row of narrow, two-storey brownstones in East Garfield Park. She was waiting for Kasia, visible from the street, ramrod-straight in her front window. Kasia flashed her badge from the sidewalk and Mrs. Kenner quickly ushered her into the front room and gestured to a small, careworn sofa that had once been a shade under fuschia. The room was meticulously clean, and the same photo of Chynelle Kenner that now hung on the board in the Cold Case bullpen was on display here; the same gap-toothed smile, Chynelle's hair gathered into jaunty pompoms on either side of her head, ready for school picture day.

Kasia dove right in. "Thank you for agreeing to speak to me, Mrs. Kenner. As I told you on the phone, we're looking into your daughter's case. We're determined to find Chynelle and bring you some justice."

Mrs. Kenner grunted, her eyes flashing angrily. "Chynelle been forgotten. By the po-lice, by everyone but me. What happen to them detectives from before, when Chynelle got taken?"

Kasia felt an immediate urge to jump to Olinsky's defense, and her face flushed with sudden, unwelcome heat. "They did the best they could, Mrs. Kenner. The trail just went cold, and they had nothing to go on." Some boys were playing basketball out on the street, and the regular thudding of the ball on the pavement sounded like an irregular heartbeat, a strange sort of soundtrack that seemed to set the tone inside where the two women faced each other.

"I need you to tell me everything you can remember about the days before and after Chynelle went missing, Mrs. Kenner. Even the smallest detail could be important. Do you mind if I record our conversation?" May Kenner's eyes warmed slightly, and she nodded assent.

"Mrs. Kenner, you told the detectives who first investigated Chynelle's disappearance that the last time you saw her was when she left for school on April the 8th. Did you actually see her leave?"

Mrs. Kenner made a soft clucking noise before answering. "No. I left for work first. She was still eating her cereal. I was running late and I didn't give her a kiss goodbye. I remember that most of all." Probably every hour of every day since, Kasia thought dismally.

"Did her father see her leave?"

"No. He was in Stateville, for a robbery he shoulda never been involved in. Octavius lost his job, he was just tryna keep the lights on here."

Kasia knew all this already, but she pressed on. "What about the days leading up to Chynelle's abduction, Mrs. Kenner? Did Octavius or you have any enemies? Anyone who might have wanted to harm you, or settle some score? I'm sorry for probing at old wounds, but any detail that might have been overlooked could be important." Kasia leaned closer to Mrs, Kenner as if to comfort her, a technique she frequently used to put people at ease, Mrs. Kenner's gaze drifted as she thought, finally landing on the picture of Chynelle that watched over the room.

"I didn't, but Octavius mighta. He hid a lot of things from me I didn't find out about till...after." Kasia knew immediately what she meant, how her life was divided, split into two separate pieces, before Chynelle, and after Chynelle. Kasia was intimately acquainted with the very same fractured sort of existence; pieces that would never form a whole again. Somewhere in this house she knew she would find marks in a doorway chronicling Chynelle's growth, marks that stopped suddenly, frozen in time, just like her mother was.

Kasia pulled a file from her bag, flipping quickly to the third page of the original report, finding a list of names likely written by Olinsky all those years ago. "This is a list of Octavius' known associates at the time. Can you look at it and see if any names jump out at you as someone who would have wanted your family harmed in any way?"

Mrs. Kenner took the page with trembling fingers and scanned it, wincing. "Most of them, I never met," she said coldly. "Like I said, he kept a lot of things from me. I don't know if any of them was coming after Octavius."

"What about Chynelle, Mrs. Kenner? Had she been in a fight with anyone, was she being bullied or harassed by another kid?"

Mrs. Kenner shifted uncomfortably, thinking. "There was one boy who took after her a couple times. He was mean. White boy, lived a few blocks over. His name was Gary, I think. Or Gray. He never touched her, just fooled with her by following her home from school, giving her strange looks and such. He told her his daddy was a cop and he could mess with her as much as he liked. Done that to a lot of other kids, too."

"Was this before or after Octavius was arrested?"

Mrs. Kenner shook her head stiffly. "I can't recall."

Kasia passed the woman her card. "If you do remember, call me anytime. My cell phone number is written on the back. Anything you think of later that we didn't get to today, no matter what time it is." Kasia clasped the woman's cold fingers briefly, another technique she often used. It was important sometimes to humanize the police in the eyes of those who were raised to mistrust them, and there had been times when a simple human touch had unleashed a torrent of details, or a confession.

"Chynelle was a good girl, miss. She deserved better than what she got."

"Do you still have hope, Mrs. Kenner?"

"No. I know she's gone. But I'll tell you something I never told those other cops. She still here somewhere, in the neighborhood. Somewhere close by. I can feel it."

Kasia thanked her gravely, turning off her voice recorder after saving the conversation, stowing the file and recorder in her bag. She rose slowly from the lumpy davenport. To her surprise, Mrs. Kenner shakily embraced her. "Don't give up on my girl," she whispered hoarsely. Kasia patted her back reassuringly.

"I'll keep in touch, and let you know how it's going," she said. Mrs. Kenner nodded wordlessly and followed her to the door.

Kasia drove aimlessly around Chynelle's neighborhood before heading back to the district, down the poverty-scarred streets Chynelle would have walked to and from school, and past the school itself, which looked very like her own elementary school. Those years had been fraught with chaos for her and her brother, their father had died just after fourth grade had begun, and with no living relatives to claim them, they had gone into the foster care system. It was then that the weight of the past began to be fully felt in their lives; the enormity of what they had lost before they had even been born emerging like a recessive gene to alter their course irrevocably. It was then that Kasia had first begun to see herself as a ghost; someone who, by all rights, should not exist. If her father had not been smuggled out of Poland as a baby, she would not have been born at all. If he had not married a woman who had endured a similar odyssey, she and Arie would not have existed, born to parents already in middle-age who glibly assumed the time for such things to be long over. The fact that there were only 70 years between them all and the Holocaust still had the power to render her mute with disbelief.

 _Et Mortuus Loqui_. Sometimes the dead spoke loudest by those they left behind.

Kasia settled in with Julian and Audrey for the rest of the afternoon. Together they listened to the recorded interview with Mrs. Kenner, comparing it to Olinsky's notes from the original interview the day Chynelle had disappeared. Kasia noted Olinsky's concise, slanted script; the careful wording, the amount of information conveyed by few words. A cop's cop. She wondered absently if he was left-handed. He had probably gotten top marks in penmanship in school. A stoic, self-contained child with dark eyes that missed nothing…

Julian nudged her. "You were saying."

"Oh. Sorry. I was saying Mrs. Kenner's addition of the kid bullying Chynelle could lead to something. I'll search for anyone named Gray or Gary living within a 10-block radius at that time whose father was a cop."

"You staying late tonight?" asked Audrey.

"Yeah. My head's too full to go home."

Audrey glanced surreptitiously at Kasia. The pressure on Kasia to prove herself here at 21 was as fresh and new as it had been at the beginning of their last post, eight years ago.

Julian was scribbling furiously, charting the discrepancies in the two interviews with the vic's mother. He yawned hugely. "I need a vacation," he moaned.

"How's a three-day rip sound?"

"Only three days? How about five?"

"Sorry. Best I can do on short notice." She paused to stretch her back. "Alright. Let's regroup. We've narrowed it down to eight kids missing from Chynelle's neighborhood in the five years preceding her disappearance, and eleven in the five years following. No ransom demands. I suspect a couple of them were most likely trafficked, and one looks to have been abducted following a custody dispute. Julian, what are the grand totals of all missing kids from Chicago during the specified time periods?"

Julian groaned, spinning his laptop so she could scan the spreadsheet he had created. "Needle in a haystack," he said.

"Needle in a stack of needles," Kasia retorted. "Our specialty. Let's go through DD files next, and LKA's. Parent's arrest records. See what pops."

The afternoon stretched on.

They were wrapping up shift upstairs, or some semblance of it; Intelligence was a 24-hour gig, and the days and nights bled into one another with alarming speed. Al was in no hurry to leave, and went to see what burned dregs might be waiting to poison him in the coffee pot. He found the usual sludge bubbling in the bottom of the pot and poured the remains into his cup, shaking his head and shutting off the machine before it started a fire.

Only Voight, Ruzek and Burgess were still here. Al moved to the window and stood sipping, his gaze swinging over the parking lot below. Her car was back. A white mid-60s Alfa Romeo coupe, lovingly cared for. He had looked inside in passing earlier in the day. Fully equipped with a scanner and radio and portable lights and siren. A strange looking harness on the passenger seat that was probably for a dog. A cd case on the dashboard. Pearl Jam. A silver disk on a chain hung from the rearview mirror, engraved with the words 'she believed she could, so she did'. A person's car said a lot about them, and often gave away things they did not intend.

Al smiled wryly. It was enough, knowing she was here, in the same building.

For now.

Kasia had just stripped the whiteboard and was about to start fresh when Kim Burgess came bounding down the stairs. Athena barked once in alarm.

"Athena! Down."

"Hey," called Kim.

"Hey, you. Just getting off?"

"Yeah, unless we get another call," replied Kim.

Kasia crossed her arms in front of her, studying the younger woman. "How do you do it, Kim? Finish a long shift looking like you just stepped out of hair and makeup?" Burgess was a willowy beauty with large, luminous eyes and rich brown hair fit for a shampoo ad. Kasia felt like an old rusted penny next to her.

Kim smiled nonchalantly. "That's sweet of you to say."

"Bet you rocked the patrol uniform, too."

"I'm sure you looked great in it, too."

"Yeah," Kasia scoffed. "Like Wednesday Addams on steroids. I don't miss it."

"Neither do I. Hey, I came down to see if you wanted to go to Molly's and grab a beer."

"That's the cop bar owned by smokeaters?"

"Yeah. It's a great place. No pressure there, ya know? You can just be yourself."

"I think I'm the only cop in Chicago who hasn't been there. Think they'd mind a K9 in the house?"

"Nah. She's a cop, too."

Kasia listened contentedly to Kim's easy chatter on the drive, Athena happily tasting the air, her snout thrust out the window, tongue lolling to one side as Kim detailed the case they were on which involved a couple of rival drug-running gang lords, one of whom was being financed by a well-known political hopeful who had no idea he was now in Voight's crosshairs.

"Sounds intense," Kasia said wistfully when Kim ran out of words. Intelligence was so much more physical than Cold Case work; unpredictable and adrenaline-fueled. Though Kasia occasionally longed for that world, she knew where she belonged: in the quiet, cerebral back alleys of police work, digging up the past.

Molly's was every bit as welcoming as Kim had said, warm, well-trodden wood floors, a canopy of white fairy lights overhead. Old school Chicago that had been painstakingly restored. The neighborhood was reminiscent of the one Kasia had grown up in. She indulged herself in a momentary flight of fancy, imagining the streets as they must have been when this place was new, teeming with immigrants seeking the American dream, filled with hope, gathering at the bar, the room filled with the sounds of boisterous narratives in several different languages.

The bartender was a silvery-haired, attractive firefighter with an infectious smile that Kim introduced as Hermann, and he made Athena welcome, kneeling to speak to her at her level, and she warmed to him immediately.

Kim and Kasia found a quiet table and relaxed in silence for a moment with their bottles of beer. "How's it going for you upstairs, Kim? Adjusting to life after patrol?" Kasia said at length.

"It's good. Really good. There were a few bumps in the road in the beginning. I'm sure there will be more. I've been working with Olinsky. I'm really learning a lot from him, but it's been tough in some ways."

Kasia's pulse sped up at the mention of that name. "How so? Different styles, maybe?"

Kim was visibly considering her response. "Not so much that," she finally said. "Platt told me Al is still having trouble accepting the fact that women can be cops."

Kasia lifted a brow at this. "Wow. Really? I didn't get that impression from him. Of course, I just met him and don't know him." She paused to take a sip of beer, hoping Kim was not reading what she was surely broadcasting. "Well, he had better watch out. One day soon we'll have the right to vote and own property and stuff."

Kim choked with laughter, spitting beer in Kasia's direction. "Here's to that," she coughed, lifting her bottle towards Kasia, who returned the toast with a satisfying clink. Kasia scoured the room, taking in the sight of cops and firefighters in various stages of decompression, at home in each other's company.

"He asked me about you," said Kim, smiling intently at Kasia.

"Who? Al?"

"Yeah. I think he's intrigued by you."

Kasia snorted softly, twirling her beer bottle. "Mutual."

"Really?" Kim straightened, peering intently at Kasia.

"Yeah. I felt like I was 14, talking to him. Can't get him out of my thoughts."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing. He's married."

Kim shook her head emphatically. "Separated. Did you know he lives in his garage? He has to knock on his own front door."

"Seriously?"

"Yep. But you did _not_ hear that from me."

"What's his wife like?"

"Unavailable. Resentful, of the job, like 21 is the other woman. Holds it over his head."

"Why doesn't he leave?"

"His daughter."

Kasia nodded succinctly, her gaze trailing away. Kim asked her again what she was going to do. Kasia shook her head wordlessly.

"I really like Julian," said Kim, changing the subject.

"So does Trudy, which amazes me. I was worried about how he would be accepted at 21. He may be a bit...flamboyant, but he's one hell of a detective."

"Tell me about the case you're working on, now that you're not buried alive reorganizing the Cold Case files," Kim said, and Kasia smiled gratefully at her, her thoughts still reeling at all Kim had entrusted her with.


	3. Chapter 3

Julian made a sweeping entrance into the Cold Case squad room the next morning belting out "My Kind of Town," but fell abruptly silent when he caught sight of Kasia's pallid face. She and Audrey were at attention in front of the board, which had been completely reworked.

"Uh oh," he muttered. "What's up, Sarge? Did you pull an all-nighter?"

"Just about. I went home to shower and take the mail in."

Julian froze at the faint, shrill sound of a scream coming from the room on the other side of their bullpen. He cocked his head questioningly at Kasia. "Who's dying?"

"Voight's tuning someone up over there," she answered. "In the cage." Kasia wondered who Voight was sweating; the gang leader, or the wannabe politician. Maybe Al was with him, lending his expertise, the obligatory toothpick jutting from under his mustache. The thought made her want to smile in spite of the shrieking they heard. _Stop thinking about him, stupid._

Kasia left them for a moment to turn on the radio in her office, tuning it to a station that played 80s music. Now they couldn't hear Voight and his captive audience at all.

"Oooh, Simply Red. God I love the eighties," Julian remarked, shimmying a little. It was one of their long-held traditions; background music from the time period of whatever case they were into at the moment. Julian swore it helped them connect to the past, and Kasia agreed with him. She couldn't imagine working without it now.

She drew their attention back to the board. "I think I found our 'a-ha' last night, connecting Chynelle Kenner to the two other girls who went missing around the same time she did. One of the girls, Raniqua Tipton, 13, vanished six months before Chynelle," Kasia traced the line to the girl's photo. "And the other, Jade Mouton, 10, was taken just a year later. Both girl's fathers were pinched for a home invasion that turned into armed robbery, and then murder. The robbery and murder took place two blocks from where Chynelle Kenner lived. The home of one Max Mercer, retired CPD Vice detective."

"Retired from which district?"

"This one."

Julian whistled. "Who was killed?"

"Mercer's daughter, Amelia. Age six." Kasia paused to let them study the board and take in the details. "There's more," she said when they turned to face her again. One of the three men arrested that night is Octavius Kenner's cousin." She pointed to the photo to the right of Chynelle's. "Marcus Haines. He's got a long sheet. He's probably how Octavius got caught up in committing B and E and armed robbery."

She moved down the board to point out a patrolman's photo, the official CPD logo in the corner. "Patrolman Grant Mercer. Max Mercer's son. I'm certain he's the kid who bullied Chynelle Kenner all those years ago."

"Not Gary, or Gray, but Grant," said Julian. "The one who said he could mess with Chynelle because his daddy was a cop," Julian interjected. Kasia nodded.

"Where are you going with this, K?" asked Audrey, her expression inscrutable. "Are you saying you think a retired detective took these girls?"

"Payback. They took his daughter, he took theirs. Haines has no children, so as his niece, Chynelle was the next best thing. If my suspicions are correct, we could be about to make some very powerful enemies here at 21. I dug into Mercer's record; he's a decorated officer and an I.A. darling. He's got friends downtown."

"What next?"

"I want to grill Platt on what she knows about him."

"Radio-free 21," said Julian, his eyes laughing. "If anyone knows anything, she's your girl."

"If we're right on all this, it could get really ugly. When people find out a cop took those girls, we could be looking at riots, at the very least. We don't want another Ferguson here."

"When Mercer gets wind he's on our radar, he's gonna react like a cornered wolf," said Audrey. "He also knows how to cover his tracks. Finding any evidence that will hold up in court could be next to impossible."

"Could we have picked a harder first case?" Julian chuckled softly. "If we crack it, we can expect both praise and loathing."

"In other words, the usual," Kasia countered.

"Do me a favor, Sarge. Let me handle the Trude. I can get the deets on Mercer. I'm telling you, she loves me," Julian said.

"Okay. Just don't piss her off. I'll see if I can corner Olinsky and Voight after they're done interrogating whoever they've got over there. But first, I need to call my brother."

Julian laughed when Kasia's phone began ringing. "He must have heard you. Twins are so...weird."

Kasia bolted to her office to catch Arie's call before it went to voicemail, and listened to him chatter boisterously about his upcoming trial , her eyes fixed on a plaque she had hung on the wall her first day here. _Justice Delayed is Justice Denied_ , it read. The Cold Case creed in one sentence.


	4. Chapter 4

While she waited for Voight and Olinsky, Kasia followed up on another hunch, searching through code enforcement records for any applications for construction permits at Max Mercer's old address. Mercer had since moved to Highland Park. Kasia wondered how he could afford it on a CPD pension. Her thoughts led to more interesting possibilities that she would chase down later.

She quickly got a hit on her search, gasping softly. Mercer had applied for a permit for a swimming pool in 1987, the application dated only three days after Chynelle Kenner had been reported missing. The current owners of the house were an elderly couple and their grandson. Her gut tightened painfully, the way it always did when she was on the trail, and her thoughts strayed again to the necklace worn by Chynelle in her school photo.

Kasia was adding the new information to the board, her marker squeaking furiously as she wrote, when Voight and Olinsky appeared. She held up a finger to tell them she had to finish, quickly scrawling the last line. Voight and Olinsky were already scrutinizing the board, putting the pieces together.

"Max Mercer," grunted Voight.

"Let's talk in my office," Kasia suggested. Julian was still upstairs with Platt, and Audrey had gone to take her daughter to the dentist. Kasia closed the office door behind them, and offered them a seat on the small, black leather sofa under the window. She laid out her case in as few words as possible, her hands clasped together on her knees, her gaze direct, moving seamlessly between the two men.

Kasia closed the office door behind them, offering the two men a seat on the small black leather sofa under the window. She laid out her case against Mercer in as few words as possible, her hands clasped on her knees, her gaze direct, moving seamlessly between Voight and Olinsky.

"I know you're busy, so I won't keep you longer than necessary. I'd like your honest impressions on Mercer and his son, Grant."

"I never liked Mercer," Al began. "He's a prick. A swaggering jackass and an opportunist, always looking to turn someone in to I.A. He was right at home in Vice, hanging out with the pimps and dealers, where he belonged."

"On the take?" Kasia prodded.

"Without a doubt. Nothing that would stick. Guy was teflon."

Voight snorted warily. "Think he's good for these missing girls?"

"Yeah. Gonna be damned hard to prove, and the powderkeg it could ignite with the public could be...disastrous. I wanted to give you both the heads up."

"Don't worry about us. 21 has weathered worse."

 _No one more so than you_ , thought Kasia. Voight had been labelled dirty so many times by so many people, most of the department had lost count. He was still standing, and his insight would be invaluable, both now and in the future.

"What's your plan?" rasped Voight.

"Bring Mercer's son in. Grill him about dear old dad's activities after his sister was shot, though he'll probably just invoke."

"Immediately," said Olinsky. "Apple didn't far fall from the tree there."

"Bring him in, wind him up and watch him go running straight to his father," Kasia continued. "And we'll see what that reveals. I plan to sit on Mercer's house, his son's, and his old address, where I believe the girls are buried. I wish I could tap his phone."

Voight pondered for a few seconds before answering. "Let me know if you need extra pairs of eyes."

"I'll get back to you on Mercer's phone," Al offered. "I have a C.I. with that particular skill set. He owes me a favor." _And now I'll owe you one_. She could almost hear her brother lecturing her about entrapment and admissibility, the rush of her racing pulse drowning it out. They rose, and Kasia shook their hands gravely. Al paused just long enough to study the plaque on the wall she had been staring at earlier, and gave her a private smile over his shoulder that she happily returned before he disappeared.

In spite of the progress they had made that day, Kasia left for home feeling somewhat defeated, the weight of the aftermath yet to come dragging at her limbs and tired eyes. Memories of the most recent protests against law enforcement were still fresh; chants of 'What do we want? Dead cops!' still rang in all their ears. Kasia dreaded unleashing a repeat of that here, but the gap-toothed girl in the photo hanging in May Kenner's front room cried out for justice, and she deserved to be heard at long last.

Kasia lingered in front of the memorial wall, her fingers tracing the name on the most recent stone added. Nadia Decotis. Kim had told her that Nadia had been studying criminology with hopes of becoming a cop, her dreams and her life taken from her by a serial killer. A lost soul who had found a home and redemption at CPD, much like Kasia herself. Nadia would have been a great cop. All the best cops had grown up on the other side of the fence.

Kasia barely registered the drive home, and spent the evening trudging around her house, doing laundry and straightening the place up. She ate a flavorless microwave dinner and fell asleep on the couch, where she woke later disoriented and sweating after a very memorable dream about Al, an infomercial about a mop that did all the work for you blaring on the TV. She turned it down and lay quietly savoring the details of the dream before they slipped forever out of reach.

She slept again, and dreamt she was mopping a long, gray corridor, her stomach pinched with hunger and sick with fear, her feet bare, shots ringing out somewhere in the distance.


	5. Chapter 5

Kasia went in early the next morning, restless and irritable and longing to work alone for a couple of hours. Her coffee grew cold as she began peeling back the layers of Patrolman Grant Mercer's life; his school and work records, his accomplishments and failures, his personal relationships.

Mercer was a floater. He had done brief stints in Property Crimes and Special Ops and had gotten his feet wet in Vice like his old man before finally landing in Patrol. He had tried unsuccessfully to break into Intelligence, but couldn't make the cut. A mediocre career, one that was tainted with conflict. Mercer had earned several rips for insubordination, ordered take to anger management classes and gone through an inordinate number of partners. Kasia noted that his briefest partnerships were with black officers, one lasting only two days. A picture began to emerge of a petty thug and a racist with numerous complaints against him for behavior unbecoming and unnecessary force.

Kasia studied his photo. Pale blue eyes fringed with blond lashes staring coldly from under his uniform cap, square jaw clenched with what looked like barely contained rage, no hint of a smile. He would have looked right at home in SS black. A wave of hatred rose in her like bile to burn the back of her throat, and she buried the photo under Mercer's service record.

His personal life mirrored his work record; a failed marriage, a bankruptcy and a foreclosure. He moved frequently after that, his list of previous addresses comprising half a page. _What are you running from, Mercer_? He now lived in an apartment a couple of miles from the district.

A female patrol officer named Ava Anderson had accused him of sexual harassment three years ago, then rescinded the charge. Kasia wondered if Kim Burgess knew the woman, and sent her a text asking for info. Officer Anderson could be worth sounding out. Kasia rose to stretch and take Athena outside to get some air. She had just attached Athena's lead to her collar when her brother Arie stole in.

"Hungry?" he rattled the paper sack he was carrying.

"Starved, actually." She crossed the room quickly and swept him into an embrace. He wrapped her in his arms in return, squeezing her tightly, the spicy scent of his aftershave tickling her nostrils.

"You smell great. So glad to see you."

Arie set the paper sack down on the overloaded table, looking over all the files there, then glancing up at the board with widening eyes, going over the elaborate timeline spanning several decades constructed there "Looks like you're pretty immersed here."

Kasia nodded mutely, still smiling at his unexpected visit. They were rarely apart for more than a few days, and always carved out time for each other no matter their workload. Kasia felt the troubled unease she had brought to work with her begin to fall away. Only Arie could affect her so, and she saw the same sort of loosening she felt reflected in his dark eyes. There was no way to explain to anyone not a twin how they needed each other, how dependent they were on the one they had each known first, the implicit trust that those born alone were forced to exist without.

Athena barked impatiently, and they took her out the back entrance, their breath forming clouds that hid their faces when the wind shifted. Beads of moisture clung to their eyelashes and hair, freezing into tiny gems, and the golden threads embroidered into the design of the yarmulke Arie always wore atop his dark curls glinted in the cold morning sunshine.

"What are you up to this morning?" Kasia asked him.

He yawned. "Voir dire. Got a few motions to file after that, then closing arguments in the Alkon case. After that I have a mountain of case files to go through. I can't even see my desk right now, I'm so buried, and so fucking tired."

"I know." She reached for his hand, chafing his cold fingers between hers. "How's Ness? And Levi?"

"Good. Busy. Levi's taking a Krav Maga class with Ness. They're both gonna be able to kick my ass one of these days."

Kasia snickered guiltily. She had gotten Arie's wife hooked on self-defense classes. "My bad," she chided, elbowing him in the ribs. He turned to face her.

"Would I be remiss in assuming you've met someone, Kash?"

"It's too early for evil mind-reading radar," Kasia groaned, though her expression told him he was eerily correct as usual. "Kinda," she finally answered.

"Who is he?"

"A detective here at 21. Nothing can come from it though. He's married. Separated. I'm intensely drawn to him. The end."

Arie was crestfallen. "That sucks."

"Story of my life."

"I'm sorry."

Kasia shrugged half-heartedly. "I know you're looking out for me. Never apologize for that."

"What are you going to do?"

"Be a professional and stay out of his way."

"Does he know?"

"Pretty sure, yeah." She tugged at Athena's lead to let her know it was time to go back inside.

"Is he interested?"

"He asked a friend about me. Probably just curious because I'm still new here. He's a veteran detective; gathering information is kind of our jam. I'm trying not to read more into it just because I want it to be more. He's gonna be helping me out with the case I'm on. That takes priority over everything else." They sauntered back toward the building, smiling when some playful cop just getting in from the night shift sounded a few happy whoops with his sirens.

"What's he like?"

"Smart. Direct. Kind. Very, very real. Good at his job. Loyal. Dedicated. Confident because he earned it. The rest, I'd love to find out."

"Sounds like the male version of you."

"You're the male version of me, except you definitely got the better egg. I hope whatever you brought to eat isn't getting all cold and gross."

"Bagels." He threw an arm around her shoulder and they went back inside. As they ate, Kasia shared her fears about collaring Mercer and the chain reaction that might follow. He offered no false assurances, knowing that was not what she needed. His shoulder was enough.

Kasia spent the rest of the morning and a good part of the afternoon dissecting Max Mercer's past while Audrey and Julian went through the Cold Case database selecting nominations for cases to pursue after they had closed this one, cases that had been waiting longest, some so heinous they should be moved to the top of the list, some that had been woefully ignored, failed by the system and the negligence of the previous squad here.

Al waited until he no longer saw the cars belonging to Kasia's co-workers in the lot, then headed downstairs where he found Kasia standing frozen in front of the board, her dark, curly hair pulled away from her face, clenched in one hand at the nape of her neck, her badge on its chain around her neck slung over one shoulder. She was muttering to herself, lost in thought.

"Hey," he called softly.

"Hey."

"Let's take a ride. I want to show you something." He smiled conspiratorially at her. Athena watched them both hopefully.

"Stay," Al aid to her. The dog lowered her head onto her front paws, unblinking. "Next time, office," he added. Athena's tail thumped the floor once.

 _Next time_? A very pleasant warmth began to spread up Kasia's spine. She hastily pulled on her coat and a black knit cap and grabbed her bag, smiling shyly when he reached for her hand. His hand dwarfed hers, and the sensation was electric, and somehow familiar.

"C'mon." He led her to the back exit and out into the early evening, taking note of the way she quickly scanned their surroundings. _Threat assessment. The ingrained actions of a soldier. She's probably not even aware of it anymore._

"Something smells good," she remarked when they were settled into his car. He had left the motor running, and it as warm inside. _You knew I'd agree to come with you_ , she thought wryly.

"Polish food," he replied, eyes locked on the rearview mirror as he backed out. He gave her the briefest of smiles. "Just don't ask me to pronounce it." They left the district, and a companionable silence fell between them like another person in the car, one who was happy to be with two people so content in each other's company that there was no void to fill with mindless chatter.

Kasia didn't ask where they were going; it was a welcome change not to be driving, but just observing, and she felt like she was seeing some of the buildings and places they passed for the first time, though maybe that was due to who she was with. A longing to touch him that was like despair filled her, and her throat tightened painfully. She knew he felt it, felt her watching his face, light and shadow playing across his profile in constant motion as they traveled on.

 _What am I doing here, letting myself feel all this for someone I barely know? When exactly did I take complete leave of my senses_? But she did know him, had always known him, had waited for him, and now that wait was over.

The journey that seemed to have barely begun ended at a sort of beachfront of smooth rock, a quiet place off Lake Shore Drive and Fullerton Avenue, a dazzling view of downtown Chicago on display across Lake Michigan. There was another car parked there, filled with teenagers who weren't here for the view. Al and Kasia got out of the car. She could smell the weed the kids were smoking from here, the pungent odor like a skunk that had just become fresh roadkill.

Al held up his badge, several pairs of bleary eyes widening in the other car. "Leave," he barked. The driver nodded, and they were gone before Kasia could laugh. He took her hand again and led her a short way from the car to the edge of the water.

"You knew right where this place was," she said. "You've been here before."

"Yeah." His gaze was fixed on the glittering skyline across the lake. "I come here sometimes, for a gut check. Just to remind myself what is I'm fighting for. Sometimes we get so caught up in the characters we miss the story. Know what I mean?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"I've never brought anyone else here. My spot, my city. Now yours, too."

"It's beautiful." Her eyes shone happily as they took in the sparkling vista in the distance.

"Yes, it is," he answered, his voice barely audible over the roaring in her ears. She knew he was looking at her, and her face burned self-consciously. _Wish I had straightened my hair, and worn something nicer_. She stroked one of his fingers with her thumb.

"About Mercer's phone. All set," said Al. "His, and his son's."

Kasia thanked him. "I'll bring his son in at the end of the day shift tomorrow."

"How are you going to play it?"

"Not sure yet. I'll know when I've got him in the box."

He led her back to the car. "Let's eat. Hopefully it's still warm." Sturdy plastic containers filled with _gołąbki_ and mashed potatoes, and chocolate _budyń_ for after, a cold bottle of Polish beer to share between them. He had brought real silverware, and cloth napkins. They ate happily, Kasia groaning with pleasure.

"That's the best meal I've had in a really long time," she told him. "Felt like coming home."

"Good to see a woman who knows how to enjoy, instead of picking at rabbit food like it's some kind of mortal sin to eat."

"You must have Polish blood."

"Polish, and Ukrainian. We come from the same people. The same world. We know the cold, and war. How to find the sun in winter. A lot of my people fought in the Red Army."

"All hail the liberators," said Kasia gravely, passing him the beer bottle after taking a swig. "By the way, you're busted for open container. License and registration, please."

"Cuff me officer. I give up."

"Sweet," she said sardonically. "Don't try to run, sir. You'll just go to prison tired." She heard him really laugh for the first time then, from his gut; it was infectious, and she couldn't help but share it.

"I'm stealing that line," he said when his breathing slowed. "About the war, Kasia. Too little, too late, I've always thought."

"It was a brutal war. The Red Army was faced with incredibly tough obstacles. The cold, more than anything."

Al's gaze wandered. "Most of my family survived. Most of those that didn't fell in combat, but a few died in the camps. Nothing like what you lost, though. What a mindfuck. I've never met anyone who survived, though I know they're out there. I've read some of their accounts. How do you live with it?"

"Sometimes, I don't. I've cracked, more than once. So has Arie. Some days it's all a part of the fabric of who and what I am. Other days, it's something I have to carry, like a Star of David sewn to my clothes, something everyone can see. I have my brother, and we had Dad, but not long enough. Our mother was gone before we could know her at all. We're like old postcards from another era, a living reminder of a time people would rather forget, or deny. We were ghosts, as children. In a lot of ways, we still are."

"Is that how it all happened for you? Working Cold Case?"

"Yeah. People shouldn't be forgotten, or filed away in evidence boxes. Forgetting them seems to me a greater crime than the rest, sometimes. Survivor's guilt, our old therapist would have called it."

"Did it help? Therapy?"

"Not really. Dad thought it might. We were too young to grasp the immensity of it all. It made us feel even more like ghosts." They finished the bottle of beer and sat quietly for a moment.

"What did your dad do, Kasia?"

"He taught history. Adjunct professor at UIC. He was a good man, but deeply paranoid and overly cautious. In a lot of ways it was still 1943 to him. Always waiting for that knock at the door. We came along so late in his life, I don't think he quite knew what to do with us. He did the best he could. You said you lost family in the camps, too. Are you Jewish?"

"My mom. She wasn't very observant. It's like you said. People want to forget. Erase. She was the daughter of an immigrant set on that new life, that American identity."

"Sever all connections, get enough distance, and maybe it never happened."

"Something like that. What about your dad?"

"Retired from the postal service with a full pension."

"What about your immediate family?"

"I have two daughters. Lexi, and Michelle. Michelle, I haven't known that long. I didn't know she existed until recently. I was undercover, a long time ago, and I slipped. Got caught up in the moment. Michelle is a teenager now." His face was drawn, pensive, dark with some inner pain Kasia could only guess at.

"No judgment here. I spent a lost weekend with a C.I. once," Kasia admitted. "I'm not proud of it. It is what it is, or was. No kid from it, though. Must have been tough to find out like that. Out of the blue."

"It was. Knowing what I've missed so far. So much of her you want kids?"

"Yeah. I did. I think that ship might've sailed already. I just turned 40. I don't want them to end up like me and Arie, with grandparents for parents and then no one."

"What happened to you and him, after your dad died?"

We bounced around foster care for a couple years, until they decided to separate us. Arie got proactive and put the word out at Temple that we needed a permanent home, or we were going down. Everyone knew our history. A couple from Kenwood agreed to take us, but we refused to be formally adopted and lose our name, which was precious to us for obvious reasons. Where did you grow up, Al?"

"South Side."

Kasia breathed, steadying herself. "What about Lexi's mother?"

"Meredith can't forgive me. For Michelle. For the job. For a lot of things, Michelle is just the latest in a long list of grudges, of resentments. I left it drift, let her drift away. Sooner or later the chasm grows too wide to cross."

"No way back?"

He shook his head adamantly.

"I almost got married once," she confessed. "When I was in the IDF. He was killed a month before our wedding day. Friendly fire, of all things. Elad Farber. It was eight years before I could take off my engagement ring, and it felt like a betrayal when I did, just like everything since has." She inhaled sharply. "Until now."

There was more to say, so much more, and they said it without words for a time, until they were both breathless and laughing.


	6. Chapter 6

Kasia set out before dawn the next morning. Officer Ava Anderson had agreed to meet her, but not at the District. There was a 24-hour diner near the station that was frequented by cops and city workers. Kasia knew the place well, and Anderson had consented to meet there.

Kasia was bristling with manic energy and elation and sexual frustration that had woken from its long slumber with a roar last night. She sang along with the song on the radio as she drove. " _I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you."_ She shut the radio off before the next note could sound, gritting her teeth. _What am I doing, getting involved with someone in an on-again, off again marriage, someone with the power to hurt me like I've never been hurt before. Why are we so quick to cede our personal power to others, to make ourselves vulnerable when we can least afford it_? Maybe the same questions were rolling around in Al's head this morning, too.

She parked a few spaces away from the other cars in the lot and went inside to grab a booth before they were all occupied. A couple of off-duty patrolmen nodded at the sight of her badge on its chain as she passed them, a sanitation worker slumped on a barstool nursing a chipped white mug of coffee, his yellow reflective vest too small to cover his ample gut.

She slid into a booth, angling past a tear in the upholstery of the bench that had been repaired with black electrical tape. The whole place had a sagging, yellowed kind of vibe, but the food here was great. A waitress with day-glo coral lips came padding over in nurse's shoes and poured Kasia some coffee. "What'll you have, office?"

"Just an english muffin, please. I'm expecting someone, so we'll need another coffee cup here, too. Thanks."

"You got it."

Kasia dumped two packets of sugar and some powdered creamer into her coffee and pulled a file from her bag. Arie had texted her the contents of the complaint Officer Anderson had brought against Grant Mercer.

* * *

Ava Anderson entered the diner hesitantly, observing the Cold Case Sergeant for a moment before approaching her. She was pretty, Ava thought, but kind of hard-looking, like she had witnessed something unspeakable that had changed her profoundly, stunted her somehow. She wore an old Bears t-shirt with a long-sleeved flannel shirt over it, and her hair was wildly curly, slipping from a loose bun. She looked like she might be homeless, and she had an unpronounceable last name. If it weren't for the shield Ava would never have taken her for a cop, let alone a Sergeant. Maybe she was undercover. She was a friend of Kim's, so she couldn't be all that bad. Ava crossed the distance to the booth where the other woman was waiting, her head down, a file open on the table in front of her.

"Um, hi. Sergeant?"

"Officer Anderson. Hello." Kasia rose and stuck out her hand. Anderson shook it politely, clearly nervous. _Soggy handshake_ , thought Kasia. "Thanks for agreeing to meet with me." She gestured to the bench opposite hers, and sat back down.

"What's this about?" Anderson asked. Kasia detected a slight quaver in her voice.

"Officer Grant Mercer," she answered bluntly. Kasia didn't wait for a reply. "You filed a sexual harassment charge against him three years ago, then dropped the charge. I was hoping you could tell me why."

Sergeant Kreczmar had disarming dark eyes that left Ava feeling cold. "Are you with I.A.?"

"No. Relax. You're not in trouble. My question pertains to a case I'm working on. This is strictly off the record."

"Oh. Okay." The waitress came by to pour Ava some coffee, giving Ava a few seconds to gather her thoughts.

"Yes, I pressed charges against him, then I backed out."

Kasia leaned toward Anderson slightly, nodding imperceptibly, encouraging her to continue.

"What happened was...I stupidly agreed to go out with him one night after shift. We actually had a decent time, and he took me back to my car at the District after and didn't press for more. The next day, he was like a different person, like he owned me. He kept trying to touch me, making lewd comments during our tour. I told him to knock it off. It stopped for a few days, then, we were responding to a prowler call, and he deliberately takes the car down an alley and parks it there. His hands were all over me, he's tearing at my collar, so I clocked him with the butt of my gun. He threatened to file assault charges, but I beat him to it. He also threatened to tell everyone we were sleeping together and that I was suffering from morning-after regret. Tells me his dad was some kind of bigshot at the District back in the day, that he'd ruin me. End my career."

"And you believed him?"

"Yeah. I'd only been on the job three months. I was terrified."

"I'm sorry," Kasia said softly, wincing when Anderson's wide gray eyes filled with angry tears. She was a tawny beauty who reminded Kasia of Hailey Upton, who worked Intelligence.

"If he's guilty of something else, I hope you bust his sorry ass," sniffed Anderson.

"You've got my word on that. Thank you, Ava. You've been a great help. No one will know we had this conversation. I'll have to ask you not to mention it to anyone, either, as it could compromise my case. The less Mercer's name is floating around, the better." Anderson nodded assent.

"Can I buy you breakfast?" Kasia asked.

"Sure," Ava replied, dabbing at her eyes.

Kasia steered the conversation to other things, asking about life on patrol and sharing a few war stories of her own; all the while her mind wandered over the details of Anderson's account and Max Mercer's relationship with his son and the way Al had held onto her last night just before they had parted, like a drowning man clutching at a branch before the current could tear it away.

* * *

Kasia could afford no more distractions that morning as she and her squad huddled in the bullpen, poring over Max Mercer's old logbooks and every record from his time at CPD going back several decades. They lost track of the time until Julian asked if they could break for lunch. Kasia was about to answer when she stumbled across something that made her gasp.

"Oh my God, you're never going to believe this," she whispered.

"What?" squawked Julian.

"Mercer collared Roy Gant in 1991 for possession with intent to distribute."

"Where do I know that name from?" Audrey said.

"Serial killer. Gant was a schoolteacher who used his son to lure kids to his house. Mercer could have been a made man with that arrest, but he fucked up and didn't conduct a thorough search. Gant's murder kit was on the top shelf of his closet, and there as a dead kid stuffed into the dryer in the basement. Gant nearly got off because of Mercer's shoddy police work. Here. Read it." Kasia spun the file around and slit it over to them.

Trudy Platt bustled in then, her face like thunder. "Kreczmar. I came down to warn you. I've heard rumblings the Chief wants you off this case."

"What?" Kasia stood open-mouthed, her eyes burning. "Why?"

"Max Mercer. He knows where a lot of bodies are buried, if you get my drift."

"What's he got, and on who?" Kasia snapped.

"Gambling debts, for starters. A lot of people are into Mercer for some hefty cash. Some of the illegal gaming Mercer and his partner collared others for, Mercer took over himself."

"That explains how he can afford to live in a condo in River West. What about the bodies Mercer has buried himself? Am I supposed to tell May Kenner her daughter's killer will never be charged because some politician sucks at poker?"

"I don't know what to tell you, kiddo," Platt said apologetically. "The brass are playing it as protecting the city from riots if Mercer gets hauled in."

"Covering their asses."

"As always."

"Fuck," Kasia spat, stalking away until she reached the back exit. She stared out the small, triangular window in the door with unseeing eyes. Trudy crept up behind her and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "What are you going to do?" she asked just above a whisper.

Kasia's eyes traced the patter of wire filaments in the window glass that strengthened it against breakage. _Appropriate symbolism_. "Keep right on working this case," she replied. "Grant Mercer is coming in for questioning at the end of first shift. I'm going to squeeze him."

"That's my girl," said Platt, giving Kasia's shoulder a squeeze before she departed

It was rank-and-file against brass now. That much was clear.

* * *

They went sullenly back to work on Mercer's case files. Julian asked about lunch again, and Kasia's phone buzzed with an incoming text, interrupting his pleas.

"I scored an interview with Jackson Helm, Grant Mercer's closest friend from school days," Kasia announced triumphantly. "Before you go to lunch, roll the board into the archive room. Put everything back into the boxes, too, and hide them. Make sure you close the door. I don't want Mercer to know how deep we're in, though it sounds like he may know already."

"Want us to bring you something?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry." The english muffin she'd eater earlier had turned to acid in her stomach, and she felt possessed, longing to corner this long-lost friend of Mercer's, longing more for a glimpse of Al. She bundled up and took the stairs to the main floor. Platt looked harried from behind the front desk, a line of people begging her attention, and she shot Kasia a put-upon look. There was no sign of Al. Kasia's heart slowed painfully. On a whim she decided not to drive, heading briskly for the train station, just another working class slob jostling for a seat on the L. She texted Helm and told him where to meet her.

* * *

Helm was waiting for Kasia outside the Lake Street station, huddled against the cold, his nose red and dripping.

"Sergeant Kaczmarek?"

"Kreczmar."

"Sorry."

"No worries. Happens a lot. Just call me Kasia. Let's go someplace and talk."

"Is a bar okay? There's one right around the corner. The Brass Rail. No one will bother us there."

"Sure. Lead the way."

The place was right where he said it would be. Kasia would have liked a longer walk; the air this morning had a rare freshness to it, or maybe her perceptions were skewed and everything seemed new after last night.

There were a few couples getting an early start inside. Kasia's head swiveled, scanning the room once. She was the only woman in the place. A gay bar.

"The food's good here, if you're hungry," said Helm.

"I love pub food," Kasia told him, hoping to set him at ease. He was probably risking his rep being seen here with a woman. The bartender waved at Helm, calling out a greeting. _A regular_.

"Where should we sit?" he asked.

"Not at the bar. That table in the corner will do." Kasia avoided looking at the floor; the carpet was strangely patterned in long lines intersected with diamonds, and the effect was dizzying.

"What do you want to drink?" Helm asked.

"Just coffee. You get whatever you want, though. I'm buying."

Helm brightened and sped off toward the bar. Kasia took a seat and dug her voice recorder from her bag, her fingers fumbling across a half-empty pack of cigarettes she had forgotten she had. Perfect. She pulled one out and was hunting for some matches when Jackson Helm lit it for her with an old silver Zippo.

"Jamie's making you some fresh coffee." Helm set his glass down, taking a seat. "Can I bum a smoke?"

Kasia slid the pack over to him. "Mr. Helm, do you mind if I record our conversation?"

"Wow, this sounds serious. Will this be used in court or something?"

"I'm just gathering information. There is a possibility you could be called to testify if this case goes to trial, yes. As of now that possibility is remote." _Especially with the ivory tower breathing down my neck_ , she thought bitterly. Kasia inhaled the yeasty scent of beer, and what smelled like soup cooking in the small kitchen here, her eyes trailing over the brass rail at the bar that gave the place its name. Helm's face disappeared in a cloud of smoke, and she waited for him to finish his panic attack.

"Look, I'm not here to ask you about your record, if you have one," she assured him. "My only interest is what you can tell me about Grant Mercer as a kid." She started the recorder. Helm lifted his glass and knocked back some liquid courage.

"We were the best of friends," he began hesitantly. "I lived two doors down."

"On Rich Avenue, correct?"

"Yeah. We did everything together. Walked to school and back together. Peanut league baseball in the summer. Riding bikes. He was at my house more than his own."

Kasia drew the photo of Chynelle Kenner from her bag. "Did you ever witness Grant bullying this girl, or anyone else, before or after school?" She laid the photo carefully in front of Helm. His face was ashen.

"I remember her. Chantelle, I think her name was. Grant used to goad me into teasing her. I never could figure out why he targeted her, she never said a word to either of us. I felt like shit about after she was kidnapped. I still do."

"Any idea who might've taken her?"

"None."

"You mentioned avoiding Grant's house. That must have been hard, since he had a swimming pool and all."

Helm sipped his drink again. "He didn't. His father was going to put one in. Dug up the back yard and everything. Poured cement. Then, nothing. One day the yard was just dirt again." Helm swallowed hard. "Oh my God, you're not saying-"

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Kasia responded, rescuing him from his wordless, frozen stupor.

"I hated going over there," he went on with agonizing slowness. Kasia could see what it cost Helm to continue. He looked as though he might fold any second. "That's why we spent all our time at my house, or elsewhere."

"Why, Jackson? Why didn't you feel comfortable there, if you and Grant were so close?"

"Grant's father. After his sister was killed in that robbery, he went full psycho. Like it was all Grant's fault somehow that he was still alive but his sister wasn't."

"Was he abusive towards Grant?"

"To everyone, but especially Grant. He could never just talk to him like a normal person; he would get right in Grant's face and whisper. Even the simplest things sounded like a threat. I avoided that house, and so did Grant, as much as he could."

"How did your friendship with him end, Jackson?"

"His father found out. About us. When we were Freshmen. That's when I came out to my parents."

"Us? Are you saying Mercer is also gay?" The bartender brought her coffee then, but it was too hot to drink, and Kasia ignored it, bearing down on Helm, her gaze fixed and unyielding.

"Yes. Repressed. I was the only one who knew. To the rest of the world, he was one of the cool kids. Popular, good-looking. He tried to play it off, made a game of all the girls who were interested, meanwhile he was laughing behind their backs. We both were. I was just the longtime friend, the social climber he couldn't break free from. The sidekick no one noticed anymore. Part of the scenery, you know?"

"Were you in love?"

"I was. Once Grant's dad began to suspect, I started to see how bad it really was for Grant at home, how bad it had always been."

 _I should've sent Julian to do this interview,_ Kasia thought with regret. _He could have gotten this guy to really unload_.

"How so, Jackson? Can you elaborate?"

"His dad made him...do things. Trying to make a man out of him. One time…" Helm fell silent, studying his hands. "One time, a cat had kittens in their garage. Mr. Mercer made Grant drown them all in a bucket. He could barely function for weeks after, he was so wrecked," said Helm thickly.

Kasia gave him a moment, signaling the bartender for another round. She sipped her coffee; fragrant and slightly bitter, the way she liked it. Her cigarette had turned into a long tube of ash.

"Is there more, Jackson? It could be really important."

Helm wiped at his nose with his sleeve. "There was a girl. In the basement. Mr. Mercer kept her there for a long time, so Grant could...do things to her. A street kid his dad picked up during some kind of police raid."

"What happened to her?" Kasia asked gently, laying her fingers over Helm's.

"Is that what this is about? This meeting?"

"It could be. What happened to her? What was her name?"

"Penny. Penelope. I don't know where she went. He just sort of stopped mentioning her. I guess Mr. Mercer let her go when he was done with her."

"What year was this?"

"1997, I think."

"Did Grant ever mention Penny's last name?"

"I don't think he knew it."

 _I have to get into that house_. "Can you remember anything else you think I should know?"

"I'm sorry. That's all I can take for one day."

"Understood. Here's my card in case you think of anything else. My cell number is on the back. I'm prepared to offer you a cash stipend for your help today, if you're willing to sign a C.I. form."

"What's that?"

"Confidential informant."

"How much?"

"A C-note."

"That's great," Helm gushed. "I have no food in the house, and I'm broke till the first."

Kasia passed him the form, a pen, and the money, knowing he would be highly motivated to stroll down memory lane again as soon as the money ran out. She bought them both a bowl of the soup she had smelled cooking earlier and paid their bar tab.

* * *

As soon as Kasia was outside, she pulled her phone from her coat pocket. It was warm in her hand. She had two text messages waiting to be opened which she ignored, calling Audrey.

"Hey. Get me anything you can find on a girl named Penelope or Penny who went missing in 1997. I'm on my way back."

She waited till she was on the train before checking the text messages. The first was from her foster-mother, inviting her over for dinner on Sunday. The second was from Al. 'Thinking of you' was all it said.

'I miss you', she texted back. Last night seemed years ago already. Kasia was grateful the train car was half-empty, her head leaning against the cold window. She read his text again, and smiled. What a sweet torment it was, waiting for him, like that moment on the rollercoaster when the car hit the summit and hesitated before plummeting from the heights and you held your breath before screaming.

* * *

Kasia strode victoriously back into the bullpen. "Grant Mercer is in the closet. Julian, you're with me." She noticed with satisfaction they had cleared away everything pertaining to the case, the table now strewn benignly with unrelated case files and evidence boxes.

"Penelope Higgins went missing from somewhere downtown in March of '97," said Audrey.

"Who reported her missing?"

A nun who ran a shelter that Penelope used to crash at."

"Go and talk to her. Beat the bushes for anyone who might have known this girl."

"Copy that."

Kasia played the recording of the question and answer session with Helm for Julian as they readied the box for Grant Mercer's arrival. "Good cop, bad cop," she said as soon as the playback ended. Julian's lips twitched into a smile.


	7. Chapter 7

They waited. Kasia stretched. Breathed. Kept all thoughts of Al steadfastly from her thoughts. Failed. Julian watched her cannily.

"You gonna tell me?"

"Not right now."

"He's coming," Julian whispered.

"Go bring him in." Kasia leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, listening to Julian's pleasant greeting outside, the niceties he ginned up while ushering Mercer into the box. Mercer's bravado evaporated when he caught sight of her.

"Have a seat, Officer," she said icily. She lifted her chin toward the door, and Julian closed it and lowered the blind over the one-way glass of the observation window.

"I'll be recording our conversation, Officer Mercer." A video camera was already set up and waiting.

"What's this about?" Mercer asked, his voice high and tight, eyes darting myopically.

Everything in the room was white. Kasia had seen to it when they first moved in at 21. She and Julian had painted the walls and the floor themselves. Blinding white. The table, the chairs, the window blinds. The eye was naturally drawn to the only source of color in the room: the detectives. Kasia had even removed the tiny red bulb from the video camera. _Nowhere to run._

Kasia had not moved, and made no attempt to introduce herself or shake Mercer's hand. She lifted her eyes to signal Julian to begin.

"We thought you might be able to help us with an investigation. Three missing girls. 1987. One of them lived in your neighborhood." Julian flipped over the photo of Chynelle Kenner and pushed it gently towards Mercer. "Do you remember her, Grant?"

"No."

"We were told you knew her. Used to walk home from school with her."

"Who told you that?"

"Someone close to her."

Kasia watched Mercer's adam's apple bob up and down. Once. Twice.

"I'm sorry, I don't know who she is. I wish I could help."

"Your dad knew who she was, Grant," said Kasia, inching closer. "She was Octavius Kenner's niece. You remember that name, don't you?" Kasia moved slowly behind Mercer, placing a firm hand on each of his shoulders. She heard a thump at the door that was Athena settling on the other side. Kasia leaned down until her lips were nearly touching his ear.

"Octavius Kenner was Marcus Haines' cousin. I _know_ you remember Marcus, Grant. The man who shot Amelia."

Mercer tried to shoot up out of the chair, but Kasia held him down. Mercer's knees were shaking. Kasia glanced at Julian, nodding imperceptibly. Julian smiled sympathetically at Mercer. "We regret having to tear open old wounds, Grant. It's necessary to find Chynelle's killer," he said.

Kasia let Mercer breathe, counting to twenty. She moved back into Mercer's line of sight, sitting primly on the edge of the table, still in his personal space, the space referred to as the 'kill zone' in the IDF. Mercer was radiating heat. She let another ten seconds pass. Mercer steadied himself. He was about to respond.

Kasia slammed her fist down hard on the table, the impact reverberating up the bones of her arm. "Come on, Mercer! We're not talking about a few drowned kittens here! Four girls are missing and presumed dead." Athena barked sharply once from the other side of the door.

Kasia flipped over another photo. "Raniqua Tipton." Another. "Jade Mouton." The last photo she pushed closer to Mercer than the others. "Penelope Higgins."

"I had nothing to do with any of them," wailed Mercer.

"Then who did?" Kasia hissed, waiting feverishly for Mercer to invoke his right to counsel, surprised he hadn't already. Still clinging to hope that he would somehow come out of this free of the shroud of guilt that clung to him.

"I know you're complicit, Mercer. I know where they're buried. There's still time for you to get out in front of this. Don't take the fall for him."

"You were just a kid," Julian interjected. "A jury would have compassion for your situation, Grant. Abusive father who made you do horrible things. Made you deny what you really are. Just tell us what happened." Julian's gray eyes were beseeching, brimming over with sympathy, with real tears. Kasia marveled at his prowess. "He called you a fairy, didn't he? Made you feel small? Worthless? My dad did, too."

"I'm not a fag," spat Mercer.

"When the shit hits the fan you're going to get splattered first, Mercer," Kasia said tonelessly. "Your parole officer hasn't even been born yet. We'll bury you."

"I'm not answering any more questions. You can both go fuck yourselves. I want your badge numbers for the complaint I'm going to file."

"Make sure you spell my name right," Kasia replied with a hint of laughter.

Mercer rose from the chair and shot Kasia a withering glance. He towered over her. She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, unflinching, ready. Mercer's fists were balled up at his sides.

"Go ahead," said Kasia sweetly. "Give me a reason, Mercer."

A strangled sound issued from Mercer's throat, and he spun, flinging the door open. Athena regarded him cooly, and Kasia let him sweat for a few seconds before calling the dog off. Mercer tore away, slamming through the back exit for the parking lot.

"Now we wait," said Julian smugly.

They didn't have to wait long. In the time it took Kasia to get Athena a treat from her office, her phone began to vibrate. It was Al.

"Hey. Mercer's on the line with his father. Get up here."

* * *

Kasia flew up the stairs and down the main floor corridor. She skidded to a stop in front of Trudy, pointing up toward the cage that barred entry to Intelligence. Trudy nodded, her sleek, shoulder-length bob that was threaded liberally with gray swinging. She buzzed Kasia up.

Al was waiting at the top of the stairs. Kasia killed the smile that threatened at the sight of him. He crooked a thumb toward the IT guy's alcove. The tech's name eluded Kasia momentarily. She bumped fists with him anyway when he offered his in greeting. She stood chewing a thumbnail as the tech played back the recording of the call Grant Mercer had just made.

"Dad. I was just questioned about...them."

"Them who?" a gruff voice drawled.

"The girls. Kenner, and the others."

"Questioned by who?"

"Some bitch Cold Case Sergeant from 21, and her faggot lackey. They know."

There was an agitated pause before Max Mercer replied. "They don't know shit, or you'd be under arrest, and so would I. Woods told me they might be sniffing around. Looks like the son of a bitch was right for a change."

A look of pure malice passed between Olinsky and Voight. Hank's jaw worked, his eyes two dark barbs."Jagoff," he spat.

"Does he mean Lieutenant Woods?" Kasia asked, incredulous.

"This city is gonna explode," Al said softly, nodding.

The tech continued the playback. "Don't answer any more questions," Max Mercer snapped. "I'll take care of it. Just keep your mouth shut and your head down." Grant Mercer hung up then, cutting his father off, and there was a brief silence and a rattle before his father hung up, as if he had more to say.

Kasia opened an app on her cellphone. Julian had put a tracking device on Mercer's old Blazer, and he was on the move. "Thank you," she said gravely to the tech. "Please contact me if you intercept any more calls from Grant Mercer." She nodded at Al and Hank and left quickly, sprinting down the stairs and back to her lair in the basement to grab her bag and coat.

"Athena. , go and sit on Max Mercer's place until I contact you." A minute and a half later she was on the road.

* * *

"Mom, when's dad coming home?" Lexi Olinsky asked her mother, who was staring pointedly out the kitchen window, darkness falling outside.

"Is he? Coming home?" she seethed. She hadn't heard from him in almost two days now.

"Where is he?" Lexi said with alarm. "He hasn't answered any of my texts. Is he undercover?"

 _With someone, no doubt_ , Meredith thought, thrumming with anger.

"Mom?"

"Go finish your homework. Dinner is almost ready." Meredith didn't wait for a reply, pacing wretchedly out to the garage. _What am I looking for out here? Some sign? Something to hold onto when I pushed it all away in the first place? Pushed him straight to Linda Sovana, so long ago he hadn't known he had a daughter by her who was nearly grown already? Linda Sovana, and now this nameless, amorphous stranger_. Meredith couldn't even conjure a mental picture of who the other woman might be. Young, or old, plain, or dazzling. All she knew for certain was that the woman would have a badge of some kind, a shared history that would draw Al in, comfort in camaraderie and a soft bed under a real roof, all those things she herself had denied, withheld, traded with like poker chips of guilt and betrayal and damn the man for his quiet dignity and earnest dedication that ran so deep she could never reach it, never use it as a weapon against him.

Until now.

* * *

No one gave Al a second look as they left Intelligence for the night, some alone and some in pairs, the sounds of their voices dwindling away as they descended the stairs, bound for Molly's or home or other private pursuits he did not care to know about. They were all used to him staying late, avoiding home. He had spent many nights here, eaten many meals from the vending machines, showered here, slept on the couch in Hank's office.

He craved the quiet tonight, time to savor the previous evening, the stolen hours with Kasia that he longed to re-live as soon as possible. Tonight he was waiting for her. If she didn't come back to the district tonight, then he would try again tomorrow night.

He read his daughter's texts and called her instead of texting her back; he hated texting and had little use for it except as a means to convey information, though he had read Kasia's text more than once in the last hour. _I miss you_. He could call her right now to make sure she was okay if he wasn't certain that she, like himself, kept the phone silenced when chasing down a suspect. If Mercer so much as looked at her the wrong way, or if Woods tried to fuck with her the way he had Hank and himself, they would both be going for a very long ride to a very dark place.

"I should have gone with her," he grumbled aloud, checking the view of the parking lot from the window again. Her car was still gone. Al went downstairs to hit the vending machines, dismayed to see Platt still behind the desk. She motioned him over, and he groaned inwardly.

"Still here again, Al?"

"Catching up on paperwork and monitoring someone's phone."

"Like hell you are. I know who you're waiting for. I'll give you a call when she gets in."

"Thanks, Trudy." he began sidling away uncomfortably.

"Hey, Al? Just between us, okay? I'm happy for you. You deserve this. Her."

"How'd you know, anyway?"

"The way she looks at you. Someone was bound to figure it out. I just happen to be the smartest person in the building, is all."

"Can't argue with that."

 _The way she looks at you._ It had been a very long time since he had felt wanted by anyone for anything other than police business, tough parenting, a paycheck, shows of unquestionable loyalty or endless other tasks no one else wanted. He had never been kissed by anyone like he had by her, and the memory made his lower back ache pleasantly, made him wonder how long he had been standing in front of the vending machines, staring at his own reflection in the glass.

He had nothing to offer her but stolen moments, fragmented hours and rare nights chipped away from everything they both were, and she deserved so much more, but there was no turning back now, for either of them, and he knew she would answer him with the same words if he spoke his regrets aloud; his fear of hurting her, leaving her, losing her. He could live with regrets, but not without her. Not anymore.

* * *

Kasia parked in an alley between two beaten-looking apartment buildings that had once been art deco but were now little better than housing projects, way stations for a migrant society constantly on the move. Her car she left in good hands; pity the hapless fool who encountered Athena waiting in the shadows as she had done so many times before. Kasia whispered a command to Athena and stole away, creeping through the dim spaces between the jaundiced ovals of illumination from the streetlights.

She gained entry into Helm's building easily, shuffling along, her knit cap pulled down over her brows, hands stuffed deep into her coat pockets. Just another loser looking to score some dope or borrow some money. The grip of her sidearm was a heavy comfort in her right hand.

The apartments had recessed doorways, and Kasia ducked into one, peering out at the front entrance from behind a sickly-looking potted plant, glad for her small stature yet again. She stood only 5'1 and weighed 98 pounds, and both had gotten her through many scrapes that might have otherwise ended very badly. The top of her head barely reached Al's shoulder. She banished all thoughts of him.

The TV was droning dully in the apartment behind her hiding place. Some kind of news program or talk show, the sort of pablum she turned on at home when sleep eluded her and the job would not leave her in peace for a few hours.

Mercer strode gamely through the front entrance then, the cold air that accompanied him erasing the temptation to think of Al again, to imagine him sprawled in her bed, asleep, close and warm and present in all the ways another human being could be.

 _Gotcha_ , mouthed Kasia silently. Mercer made a beeline for the elevator. Once the door closed, squeaking in complaint, she sprinted around the corner to the staircase, knowing she would beat the old elevator to the second floor. She took the stairs by twos, making no sound, slipping into her IDF training like pulling on a favorite, well-worn shirt.

Helm lived in 2E. Kasia made it to 2C before the elevator door closed behind Mercer. She had a clear view of him closing in on Jackson Helm's apartment. Mercer hesitated, as if plagued by second thoughts, and Kasia readied herself in case he decided to walk away, right past her.

Mercer hammered on the door of 2E a few times. "Jackson! Open the door, it's Grant Mercer!" he bellowed. Kasia could hear the hollow old door rattle on its hinges as Mercer punched it again. It held.

"Open this fucking door, or I'll kick it in, Helm." The door behind Kasia was flung open instead, and she pushed the man emerging from behind it back inside, holding up her badge and urging him to silence with an index finger over her lips. A malodorous wave of overcooked cabbage hit her full in the face, and she pulled the door closed indignantly.

Mercer was too intent on his prey to notice, and there was a loud whump as he kicked the door in. Kasia could hear the torn-away deadbolt bounce off the floor, followed by a scream.

"Get out of here, Grant! Leave me alone! I've already called 911!"

"They won't get here in time, you fucking weasel, Mercer growled. "Before they do, you're gonna tell me why you've been talking about me to cops from my district. You should be glad it isn't my father here instead."

"There's an investigation," pleaded Helm. "Those missing girls, from when we were kids."

"I know that, asshole. Told them all about me, didn't you, buddy? Why?"

Kasia crept closer, so the voice recorder in her pocket could capture every word clearly.

"They just want to find out where that little girl is, Grant. Chynelle, and the others. So the families can have some peace."

"What about my family, you stupid fuck? Get up, you're coming with me."

"Get out of here, Grant! Don't touch me!" Helm let out a strangled cry that was abruptly cut off.

Kasia edged closer, her back sliding against the wall, her gun cocked and leading the way in front of her. A kid across the hall was watching the action, peeping out from beneath the door chain. Kasia motioned at him with the muzzle of the gun to close the door.

"Drop him, Mercer!" Kasia cried. Mercer's hands were wrapped around Helm's scrawny neck, squeezing. Mercer gaped at her in disbelief, then released Helm, lunging at her as she had hoped he would. As he closed in, she brought her knee up hard into his groin. When he folded in pain she drove her elbow down into the back of his neck, her knee shooting up again to connect with his forehead. Pain from the blow radiated up her leg, but she ignored it. Mercer lay prostrate on the floor, retching and gasping for air. Kasia wrenched his arms back and cuffed him, resisting the urge to kick him in the face.

"Jackson, do you need an ambulance?"

Helm shook his head weakly, sucking in great gouts of air, his neck striped with bruises that would be black by morning. Kasia got him to the couch, brought him some water from the small kitchen, and sat with him until he felt able to speak.

"Thank God you were here. Have you been following him?" Jackson wheezed.

"Following a hunch. He'll be charged with breaking and entering and assault, and I'll add on resisting arrest. I'm sorry I put you in danger, Jackson. I'll assign you a security detail, until this is over."

"If his father finally has to pay for everything he's done, it'll be worth it."

"You sure you don't want me to take you to the hospital?"

"Yeah. Just get that pusbag out of my apartment and put him in a cage."

"With pleasure." Kasia hauled Mercer to his feet. He was remarkably pliant now, and she danced him drunkenly down the hall to the elevator, the sounds of his moaning punctuating every step, the muzzle of her gun jammed into a kidney as motivation to keep moving.

Once she had dumped him into the backseat of her car, Kasia let Athena handle him, warning him the dog would tear his throat out at one word from her if he made any kind of move, and he was quiet all the way back to the district, and numb by the time the duty officer rolled the door closed on him in lockup. She moved briefly out of Mercer's earshot and called Julian and told him to go home; then she made another call to arrange for two unis in an unmarked car to take the next shift at Max Mercer's place. When she was done, she signalled the duty officer to give her a few moments alone with Mercer.

"Well, Grant. Here we are again, only this time you'll be peeing blood for a week. Are you ready to tell me what really happened now?" Mercer stared at some fixed point on the floor only he could see, his eyes sunken in pain.

"How long are you going to cover for him, Mercer? You put your career on the line tonight. How much more are you willing to give up to protect your father?"

"It's all good. I never wanted to be a cop anyway."

She changed course, wishing Julian were here. He was far better at this than she was. "I'm sure you never wanted to be his accomplice, either. You were dealt a bad hand. If you cooperate now, I'll do my best to make sure the District Attorney knows that. I'm offering you a chance here. I suggest you take it."

He shook his head dumbly. "You don't understand how deep it goes."

"Then tell me."

"I have the right to remain silent. I'm exercising that right." He lifted his bloodshot eyes and dismissed her with a glance. She said nothing more to him, and he was booked and informed he would be transferred to county lockup to await arraignment. She limped tiredly back downstairs to shut the lights off and head for home, her knee throbbing.

* * *

Al was stretched out in the one of the chairs near the Cold Case bullpen table, his fingers steepled, lost in thought until she broke his reverie.

Hey, Cookie," he said. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I just collared Grant Mercer for assaulting my C.I. I used him as bait."

"His dad will probably post bond by morning."

"I know. His career is finished. He still won't give his father up."

"You shouldn't be out there dragging the trash back in by yourself, sweetheart."

"One of the hazards of running your own crew. We're a small unit. Sometimes it can't be helped. Al, what's the deal with Woods? Why would he want to jam me up on this case? I've never had any dealings with him."

"Woods has a hard-on for Hank going back thirty years, and anyone loyal to him. Voight and Woods were partners, once upon a time. Woods has done his best to ruin us over the years. Woods and Max Mercer have a history, too, a history of scratching each other's backs like two monkeys picking lice off of each other. They have a lot in common. Woods will cover Mercer's ass, and his own in the process. Anyone connected to me or Hank is in Woods' sights. Woods will try to make it look as if shutting down your case is his way of protecting the city and CPD from the PR nightmare Mercer's arrest would cause, but in reality he'll just fan the flames of public unrest instead."

"To divert the focus off himself."

"Among other things. I'll tell you about some of Woods' finer moments when the time is right. Come over here, please." He held out a hand to her, pulling her into his lap when her fingers were within his grasp. She laughed with unexpected delight.

"Want to go get some dinner?" he mumbled after kissing her neck.

"No. Let's go home. To my house. Will you stay with me tonight, Al?" she breathed into his ear.

He rose slowly from the chair, Kasia wrapped around him, and carried her out to her car.


	8. Chapter 8

Al took a few moments to explore Kasia's house while she was in the shower; he had seen nothing but her last night, had no recall of anything but losing himself in her. He had no idea what part of town they were in, and a glance out the window offered no answers. He sauntered into the front room. The house was small, but well-kept, a one-storey bungalow on a quiet street. Still, there was something troubling about the place that he couldn't name.

There was a bookcase, the shelves bowed slightly from the weight of volumes on Criminology, Forensic Science, and History, the latter probably from her father's collection. There was an old sideboard with a glass-fronted hutch on top that was empty. No set of family china or silver in the drawers of the sideboard.

Further on, a small bureau held a few framed photographs: Kasia in a strange looking uniform, a sniper rifle slung over her shoulder. She looked unaware she was being photographed, intent on something in the distance, her skin dark olive from time in the sun. Another photo of her in the same uniform with a small group of other female soldiers; they had formed a human Star of David with their arms interlocked and they were smiling grimly.

Another photo of a young man with wire-rimmed glasses, dressed in the same style uniform. This must be the man Kasia had planned to marry. Al wondered if Kasia had taken the photo. The man's eyes shone with affection, and he grinned lopsidedly, as if teasing her.

The next photo was of Kasia with her arm around the man he had seen her with a couple times at the district; he had the same straight, white teeth, the same dark curls and the same obsidian eyes. Her brother.

It was the photo in the center that drew him, and he picked up the frame and carried it into the light from the window. The photo was so crisscrossed with creases it looked like a kaleidoscope image, but the woman's face was clear; a woman who could be Kasia in another decade or so stared back at him defiantly, the Star of David that marked her as a Jew plainly visible on her dark coat.

It was then that Al realized what it was he felt here. Nothingness. There was no sense of family history but what Kasia had cobbled together for herself. No family heirlooms, no stacks of photo albums, no keepsakes or mementoes of the sort Meredith had run out of room for at home. For Kasia, all that had been erased before birth.

"My grandmother," Kasia said softly from behind him. "That's my most treasured possession."

"What was her name?" he asked, still gazing at the framed, doomed woman.

"Kasia Agnieszka Kreczmar. Same as me."

"Sounds Russian, the way you say it."

She walked him back over to the bureau, pointing. "My grandfather, Abram, when he was a boy." Abram was surrounded by dour-looking people of assorted ages in peasant clothing, all of them with the same challenge in their dark eyes as the woman beside him, the same inner strength that was still in the world despite the world's best efforts to eradicate it.

"Where, in Poland?" he said.

"Lipno. This is where I come, when I need a gut check. A reason to keep fighting."

In some inexplicable way the last few moments felt more intimate than all they had shared last night. The photos were riveting, and Al was reluctant to replace the picture of Kasia's grandmother, to look away. Last night had changed him profoundly, and he longed to articulate it. He drew her into his arms, hoping to convey what he would have said with the words that had abandoned him. She was trembling, and he held onto her more tightly until they were both still again, as if they had just made love and need only bathe in the radiance afterward until they were both anointed by it.

"Where are we?" he finally asked, and she laughed.

"Wrigleyville."

"How long have you lived here?"

"Nine years. I bought this place through that 'cop on your block' program. My brother lives nearby. Al, are you sorry? About last night?"

"No, and I never will be. Are you?"

"Not a bit. I've never wanted anything more. Now, I feel like.,,"

"Like you don't quite know what to do with yourself?"

"Yeah. Exactly that."

'We're not the same people we were yesterday."

"No. We're not. And I don't want to look back." She hesitated painfully. "They're going to see your car still in the parking lot at the district, and mine gone."

"Already thought of that. I'll take the L back. If anyone asks, I went to a bar and got too hammered to drive home."

"So nice to have an evil genius around the house. We should get going." She sighed lustily, pressing her forehead against his chest.

"What are you doing today?" he said.

"Grant Mercer's arraignment. Interviewing Mercer's neighbors at his previous residence in East G-Park. Dreaming of you."

He nuzzled her damp hair. "Are you wearing anything under that bathrobe?"

"No."

"How much time have we got?"

"Not enough," she mumbled against his cheek.

Let's make it count, then. Come take another shower, with me."

Audrey and Julian were probably just arriving at the district, wondering why she wasn't first in as always, the coffee already made. They would just have to make their own,

* * *

"You're looking way too pleased with yourself this morning, Alvin." Trudy called from the front desk when Al passed by.

"Don't bust my balls, Trudy," he called back flippantly, his eyes smiling. Trudy shook her head but remained wisely silent. A man waiting at the counter for Trudy's attention watched them both, mystified. Cops were a breed unto themselves.

* * *

Kasia breezed into her squadroom equally ready for battle, Julian and Audrey just breaking into a box of donuts one of them had brought. Kasia hadn't eaten since yesterday and happily indulged, perusing the two boards now pushed together to hold the ever-growing timeline of their case.

She brushed powdered sugar from her fingers, ready to dole out assignments. "Audrey, you can start interviewing Mercer's old neighbors. Julian, I'd appreciate it if you could check up on Jackson Helm. I'm going to Grant Mercer's arraignment. I'll have to leave in a few minutes."

"Actually, you won't," a deep, booming voice broke in. "Grant Mercer killed himself last night." Kasia stood stock still, absorbing this bit of news, her thoughts reeling.

"Lieutenant Woods. To what do we owe the pleasure?" Kasia sneered.

"It might be best if I answer that in your office, _Sergeant._ " The last word was laden with contempt that was not lost on any of them.

"Anything you have to say to me, you can say right here. _Lieutenant._ " Kasia matched his sarcasm, watched his eyes flare in response.

"Oh, really? I know a few things you might not want broadcasted. Let's just say...I wouldn't get too cozy with Hank Voight or his associates if I were you."

 _Al_. Woods knew, somehow. Kasia's face burned with impotent rage, all the joy of the night before now darkened, tainted somehow. Woods strolled over to their boards, examining the photos, the lines of information that branched off the main highway of dates and names and connections between the dead and the living.

"This is good work. I'd like to see justice for these families as much as you, Sergeant," drawled Woods. Kasia wondered how he kept a straight face. "I wonder, though, if you've thought about the reaction if you charge Max Mercer for this? What will you do when the city is burning?" said Woods, still peering at the boards.

"My job," Kasia answered coldly, speaking to his backside.

Woods nodded slowly. "Just be careful who you get into bed with here at 21, Sergeant. I've seen careers destroyed over less." He ambled off toward the stairs without looking back, Kasia's gaze boring holes into the place between his broad shoulders. She felt Julian trying to catch her eye.

"What was that all about?" Audrey whispered after Woods had gone.

"I'm going to the morgue," Kasia replied without answering.

* * *

Ruth Dwyer, the Medical Examiner, was a stern looking woman, her dark brown hair pinned back in a severely tight bun, a style she had worn for as long as Kasia had known her. In spite of her size, the woman moved along the corridor at a brisk clip, and Kasia scrambled to keep up.

"In here," Dwyer said bluntly, jerking her head toward a suite of rooms behind a windowless door. Grant Mercer lay on a metal table in the second room, covered by a white sheet. The M.E. pulled the sheet down almost tenderly. Kasia noted the y-shaped incision that ran down Mercer's midsection like a zipper, and the livid bruise on his forehead she had left there the night before. She felt a wave of guilt and pity for the man, who would not be here if not for her.

"I take it you were the arresting officer?" Dwyer asked.

"Yes."

"Must've been one hell of a fight."

"Not really. The ligature marks on his neck-"

Dwyer cut her off. "Not what killed him. The bruise on his neck is postmortem. Note the absence of petechiae around the orbital sockets? This man died of an air embolism. He was injected between the toes by someone who knew what they were doing. Here, just below the metatarsal joint."

Kasia bent to look. The tiny hole could have been easily missed by someone less meticulous than Ruth Dwyer. "He was due to be arraigned this morning. How was he found?"

"With his sock tied around his neck, one end tied to the bottom of his bunk. There was just enough drop to make it look like a hanging."

"Time of death?"

"Around 3 a.m., judging by liver temp."

 _This was a hit, by someone on the inside who wanted Grant Mercer silenced, but who set it up_?

"Thank you, Ruth."

"Good to see you. Good luck on the case."

Kasia gave her a watery smile and departed.

* * *

She had just found a parking spot at the county lockup when her phone vibrated. Audrey had scored an knock-and-talk with Mercer's old nextdoor neighbor, and asked if she should wait for Kasia. Kasia texted her back to proceed and gave Audrey her location. Julian had texted all was well with Helm and he was on the way back to 21 to dig into Max Mercer's financials. Al had left a voicemail telling her that Intelligence had caught a case that might involve stepping on the Fed's toes and that he would see her soon. Apparently Woods hadn't dropped in on Voight and crew this morning to deliver a warning in person.

Kasia sat staring at her phone, agonizing over her response. The thought of a wedge between her and Al so soon after last night was unbearable, but she had to warn him off. Woods knows abt us. Steer clr 4 now. DLT THIS. She added a weeping emoji. _I won't become just another weapon Woods can use against you, even if it means staying away from you._

She moved numbly into the building, showed her badge and demanded to speak to the third shift C.O. and to be shown the video of the block Grant Mercer had been held in. She was informed that Mercer had two other cellies in with him; one had bonded out early this morning. Jordan Imholt.

She was given use of an empty interview room, and the video uploaded to her laptop. She ran Jordan Imholt through NCIC and the CPD database and got no hits. She did a public records search and found a man with the same last name, Frank Imholt, but he was 70 and lived in a retirement home in Oak Park. No kids. There was nothing on Imholt in CODIS. His booking photo showed a young white male, strawberry blonde and freckled. He looked like an All-American hopeful. He had been booked for drunk and disorderly, though he had blown far under .08. Imholt did not exist in any records search.

The tired third shift C.O. had nothing useful to add, saying only that no one had gone into or out of Mercer's cell except the guard who had gone in to pull Imholt out after his bond had been posted. She sped through the video to confirm this before letting the C.O. leave, and sat pondering for a few moments before leaving herself.

* * *

Audrey was waiting for her in a small park four blocks from Max Mercer's old place. Kasia settled on the splintered, cold bench beside her. "Grant Mercer's death was a hit," she said sluggishly. "How did it go with the neighbors?"

Audrey blanched. "They opened up. Told me a few horror stories. One of the worst: Mercer once strung up Grant in the garage by his wrists for an entire day for burying his mother's wedding ring in the backyard. The neighbors saw it for themselves. There were other, equally appalling accounts. Children and Family Services were called countless times, but nothing was ever done. One thing was clear, they were all afraid of Mercer."

"The psychopath hiding in plain sight," muttered Kasia, her eyes wandering to the basketball court where a game of 3 on 3 was just getting started. "I'll be right back," she said to Audrey, and strode purposefully toward the players.

"Hey," she called. "I wonder if you could help me out. Can you tell me who runs this neighborhood?"

"You 5-0?"

"Yeah, but I'm not here for any of you. I just need some history. Who's in charge here?"

"G-Park Lords," answered the tallest of the boys. He was painfully thin, his cheekbones casting shadows. "And sometimes Black Souls. Insane Spanish Cobras. Depend."

"Lords got this block, all the way up to he L," said another boy with an elaborate fade on the sides of his head, his hair block-shaped on top. He had startling blue eyes. "Then back down that way, errthang east to Sherman. Souls be runnin' it past there."

Kasia launched into her opening arguments. "I'm investigating the disappearance of four girls from this neighborhood who went missing in the 80s. I know a cop who lived here then killed them. I intend to prove it, and make him pay. My problem is the backlash." Several of the boys guffawed loudly.

"You tryna protect his ass?"

"No. I'm trying to protect the city. A lot of innocent people will get hurt if the city riots. I think another cop helped the killer cover up his crimes. I want to send them both to Stateville. You can help me, if you're interested."

"Help you gank bacon? What you want us to do?"

"Spread the word. Tell the Lords and Souls and Cobras that I aim to bring this motherfucker down without burning down the city in the process."

"Who he ice?" asked Lemarcus, the tall one.

"Chynelle Kenner. Raniqua Tipton. Jade Mouton. Penelope Higgins. Chynelle was only eight when she disappeared."

"Mouton? I know a Cordell Mouton. He say his auntie disappeared, 'fo he was born. Bet that her."

"Bet you're right," Kasia replied. "Their families deserve justice, not riots. Can you pass that on for me?"

"I went to a candlelight thing for Chynelle once. What you call it?" said a boy wearing a Fat Albert jacket.

"A vigil?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck 12," said Lermarcus. "Can't make no promises 'bout the Lords and them. Niggas don't listen."

"Anything you can do would help." Kasia thanked them earnestly and gave Lemarcus her card.

"Sergeant, dayum," he hooted, saluting her. The other boys joined in, laughing.

Kasia smiled at them. She would have offered Lemarcus C.I. pay, but knew he would take insult, She had shown respect, which counted for more here.

"You owe me one," said Lemarcus, grinning.

"I won't forget it," Kasia answered wryly.

"Y'all wanna play?" said the boy with the fade. "Get shawty over here, Miz Po-Po. We gonna go 4 on 4." Kasia and Audrey and Julian had played in more than a few pickup games during their years at the 3-3, blowing off steam with other cops in the small courtyard behind the district.

"Sure. What the hell." She called Audrey over. One of the boys began rhyming about what an easy defeat it would be, but they got as good as they gave, Kasia and Audrey's side losing by only two points.

* * *

It was long past lunchtime when the game ended, and they grabbed some fast food on the way back to the district and ate as they regrouped with Julian.

"So, what next?" Julian asked, stealing one of Kasia's fries.

"I'm going to ask Arie to get us a search warrant for Mercer's backyard."

"On what grounds?"

"Reasonable suspicion."

"What about Woods?"

"Fuck him."

Julian gave Kasia a questioning look, about to probe for more, when Trudy Platt burst in. "Kreczmar. I just got a call from central dispatch. Someone broke into your house. One of your neighbors called it in. Smash and grab."

"I'll drive," Audrey offered tersely, squeezing Kasia's shoulder. They piled into her car, their lunch forgotten on the squadroom table.

* * *

Kasia moaned softly, her heart dropping at the sight of her shattered front window, her door kicked in, hanging by the top hinge.

"Julian, will you put Athena in the backyard?" Kasia asked. "I don't want her feet hurt on all the broken glass." Athena was straining at her lead, whining, scenting the strangers who had invaded her space.

Kasia felt the same way she did when entering the premises after kicking in a door herself; the same frisson of latent fear shot through her, the same sense of necessary violation. They had left nothing unbroken. The TV, her glass cabinet, every window. Every framed photograph. She dove to retrieve the shattered frame that held her grandmother's picture. It had suffered a new crease, and one of the corners had torn, but it had survived. Kasia winced at the irony.

She heard Audrey gasp and turned around. Someone had spray-painted a swastika on the opposite wall, but they had gotten it backwards.

"Morons," Kasia spat, hysterical laughter threatening to overtake her. She fought it down before it could escape.

"The crime scene techs are here," Julian said, poking his head in the door. "Oh my God," he rasped, backing out again.

"We'll help you clean up," said Audrey, her eyes welling with tears.

"No. It's okay. I think I'll just hire someone to do it," she lied. "I'll call someone about the windows, maybe they can come early in the morning."

"Are you sure?"

Kasia nodded, her throat closing. She offered to drive them both back to the district, but they insisted on taking the train. She followed them out to the sidewalk, digging her sniper rifle out from under the front seat of her car.

"I really think we should stay," said Audrey mournfully.

"You're not staying here tonight, are you?" asked Julian in alarm.

"Everything I own is in there, Jules. I'll be fine. I have Athena. I'll call Arie."

The techs were waiting to be let into the house, and Julian and Audrey reluctantly departed. She went through the house with the techs leadenly, taking an inventory of what was missing, filling out the standard report forms. She sat on the front steps while they finished dusting for prints, wishing for a cigarette.

They had taken an old shotgun a friend from the 3-3 had given her, and her engagement ring, and the chef's knife from her knife block which they had used to slash her sofa and chairs and mattress. The missing items were just props; they had gotten what they came for. To leave a message.

Once they had gone, and the neighborhood around her began settling in for the evening, she was alone with her broken house and she let the tears she had so mightily restrained come in a torrent until she no longer needed them.

* * *

Al tried calling Kasia several times after Trudy told him what had happened. It had been an exhausting day, and they were about to head out again to shake down a reticent witness when Trudy called up to Intelligence to let him know his daughter was downstairs. Al popped an antacid and went down to meet Lexi, the cage door wheezing shut behind him,

"Hey, Lex."

"Hey." Lexi glared at him in a way so eerily like Meredith it made him twitch.

"What's going on? Are you alright?"

"You're asking _me_ that? Where have you been? I was beginning to think you were dead."

"I've been working. Where else would I be?" He was tired, and worried, and in no mood for an interrogation, and Lexi saw it on his face, recoiling.

"I'm sorry. I just...miss you," she mewled. "We were supposed to have dinner tonight. All of us."

"I miss you too, sweetheart. I'll be home just as soon as I can, okay? I've got a few minutes, come sit down and tell me what's been going on." He led her over to the waiting area, to the last of the empty chairs, and squatted beside her, balancing on his heels and half-listening to her chatter excitedly about officially moving in with her boyfriend this weekend, the picture of an attentive father as his own thoughts went from the witness they were about to corner to Kasia trying to deal with her destroyed house, the place he most longed to be right now, vandalized or not; images of her long hair slipping through his fingers as her neck arched in ecstacy looming large and eclipsing all reason.

"Dad?"

"What?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yeah. I'll help you move your stuff this weekend, but I'm not happy about it. I gotta go, Lex, Hank's waiting for me. I'll be home as soon as I can, okay?" He had to turn away then, afraid she would see in his eyes everything he could not keep from his thoughts.

"Get someone on Kasia's house," he said to Platt as he passed her. Hank was already coming down the stairs, signalling him that it was go time. Platt's eyes flashed a warning, but Al ignored it.

Trudy watched Lexi Olinsky shuffle dejectedly out with a twinge of sadness. Al had met the right woman at the wrong time. Trudy felt for them both, but couldn't help thinking there would be no happy ending here.

* * *

By midnight, Kasia had cleaned up enough of the glass to let the dog into the house. She had put cardboard over the biggest of the broken windows and cranked up the heat, but it was still cold enough inside the house to see her breath, and she paced, wearing a couple layers under her coat, her sniper rifle in its sling over her shoulder, her sidearm holstered, the safety off.

Athena rumbled, deep sounds issuing from low in her chest, and bolted toward the front door. Kasia raised the rifle, lowering it again when Athena began yipping happily, her tail swishing. Arie.

"Kash?"

"Hang on. There's a chair holding up the door." She wrenched it free and pulled at the door, balancing it on the remaining hinge.

Arie let out a choking sort of whistle once inside. "Oy," he stammered, taking in the destruction.

"Gevalt," she added. "I hope that's food. I'm starving."

"Ness made lasagna." Arie passed her the foil-covered dish he was carrying, staring in disbelief at the backwards swastika on the wall. "Was this a hate crime?"

"Aren't they all?"

"Who did this?"

"Several scumbags look good for it."

Their eyes finally met. "I'm sorry," he said. She shrugged sadly, and he embraced her so swiftly she nearly dropped the dish. "Tell me everything."

"Mind if I eat while I talk? This smells great."

"No. Its freezing in here."

"I'll get you a blanket to wrap up in."

"It's okay. You'll get sick in here, though. You're coming home with me."

"I can't leave and risk another break-in."

Arie moved her toward the kitchen, his hand on her back, all the comfort she could possibly want right now. "There's an unmarked car out front, on the other side of the street. Let them watch the place."

 _Al_. She flushed, turning away to get a fork. All her plates had been broken, so she ate from the dish. "I'm staying here. It's a point of pride now. I'm not gonna let them run me off. This is my house."

"Tell me. All of it." He pulled a stool up to the counter and sat, running at his arms to warm them. Kasia complied, and between mouthfuls of still-warm lasagna the story came spilling out; Grant Mercer, the case, the warning from Woods. Al.

Arie got up, stretched, got a beer from the fridge. They shared half of it in silence. "I want to try this case," he said.

"So, can you get me a warrant?"

"I'll do my best. Do you love him, Kash?"

"Yeah. I think I do."

"What are you going to do?"

Love him. What else _can_ I do?"

"I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Oh, I'm going to get hurt, Arie. No way around that. I've already accepted it."

"What about his family?"

Kasia exhaled slowly. "I don't know. I don't want to cause them any pain, obviously."

"Sounds like they're already...fractured."

"Sleeping in the garage is a pretty good indicator, yeah."

"If it's on-again, off-again, what about when it's on again?"

"I don't know that either. I do know I'll wait for him, if it comes to that."

"Why?"

"Because I'd rather have whatever time I can with him than all the time in the world with someone else." She watched him blink away tears, stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers.

"If he hurts you-"

"He will. But it won't be intentional. He never expected any of this. Neither of us did. It should've been us from the beginning, but I'm willing to take what's left. I can't explain it any better than that."

"I want to meet him."

"So you can cross-examine him?"

"Naturally. Remember how I grilled Elad?"

"Vividly." She grimaced slightly. "He respected you for it. I don't know if I ever told you that."

Arie gave a her a grin so like her own it was like seeing her own reflection. They spoke of other things then, the tension ebbing, until she talked him into going home and getting some sleep. The unmarked car was still there as she watched him go, and she smiled, warmed by the knowledge of who had sent it.

She wrapped herself in a blanket and settled into her ruined armchair to wait for morning, Athena sleeping warily at her feet, She listened to the voicemail Al had left, the rich timbre of his voice soothing her. She played it again and again until her phone battery died and sleep stole over her.

* * *

Meredith watched Al sullenly as he sat talking about nothing with Lexi, irritated at their easy banter, their uncomplicated connection. Whatever Lexi had sensed was amiss with him she had clearly made peace with. Only Meredith saw the subtle changes in him no one else would notice; the aura of quiet fulfillment that clung to him like invisible armor, the sense of possibility like a light in his eyes that she wanted to crush.

Whatever this was, it was more than a Linda Sovana one night fall from grace. This was cliff diving, bungee jumping with no guarantee the rubber band would hold and she could almost taste his private exhilaration, already as compartmentalized and closed off from her as the other parts of his life were now, except for Lexi.

They went through the motions civilly, for Lexi's sake, and after Lexi went home to her boyfriend Al trudged off to the garage like he always did, Meredith watching from her bedroom window until her eyes grew too heavy. His car sat unmoving like an accusation, the windows rimed with ice. Al would be buried under blankets out there, sleeping with his hat on, his breath freezing, white vapor that would cling to his mustache and freeze again.

He would find conditions no better at his lover's house, unless she knew a window repair crew that worked nights. Meredith chuckled smugly at the thought of the other woman shivering and alone, afraid to close her eyes, cop or not.

She crawled into bed, warm and amused, her heart aching fiercely. When she rose again much later and looked out the window again, his car was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a blessedly slow morning, and Trudy Platt idled away a few moments trolling pawn shop websites for Kasia's stolen ring. She had put out a BOLO, and a lot of people were looking for it. Kasia would not have had time to get to it yet with Woods watching her every move, her case stalled, and her house ransacked.

Trudy looked at a photo of the ring again before tucking it under the desk blotter. It was delicate, pretty; a pale blue stone framed by diamonds. Made in Italy. Aquamarine, maybe, or blue topaz. The man who had bought if for Kasia had probably put a lot of time and effort into the search, or even had it custom-made. That love affair had been as damned as her current one was likely to be.

Kasia's career might be equally doomed if Woods wasn't stopped soon. Trudy had talked with Hank about it earlier, tossing ideas back and forth, but nothing workable had emerged.

A process server interrupted her musings, an anemic-looking kid who had probably been on the job all of two weeks. "Hi," he said to Trudy, swallowing nervously. "I'm looking for Sergeant…" he held up the sheaf of papers he clutched, showing Trudy the name.

"Just a minute." Trudy bristled, picking up the phone and clicking Kasia's extension.

* * *

"What?" Julian asked when Kasia came trailing back into the bullpen.

"Max Mercer is suing me for excessive force and A & B. For good measure, he added wrongful death, claiming Grant would still be alive if I hadn't arrested him."

Audrey snorted derisively. "Grant was lucky to have survived his father this long."

"At the rate I'm going, I'll be busted down to meter maid or crossing guard by next week."

"Or Police Commissioner," said Arie from the bottom of the staircase. Kasia whirled to face him.

"I wanted to deliver this in person." he held up the warrant like it was a gold medal. "Go dig up that yard."

* * *

The forensics team and CSI unit were already waiting when the Cold Case squad arrived at Mercer's old place on East Sheridan Avenue. Kasia was thrumming with excitement and trepidation, her long black coat billowing around her legs in the bitter wind. Everyone assembled here seemed to be dressed in black; hats and gloves and coveralls and insulated boots. It was a rough day for an exhumation, the ground frozen and unyielding. The present occupants of the house were equally unyielding when Kasia announced their intent.

"You'll ruin my garden," protested Annemarie Lynch, who huddled behind the front door as she examined the warrant.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Lynch, but it can't be helped," Kasia replied urgently.

The woman's husband jumped to her defense. "This is private property!"

"And this is a murder investigation, sir. Either you let us in or we arrest you for impeding an investigation."

A deep furrow appeared between Lynch's brows. "Our grandson lives with us. He has Down Syndrome."

"You might want to keep him away from the windows, then. We don't want to traumatize him. The fact is, there are bodies buried in your yard. Wouldn't you rather they were removed, and their families given a chance to bury them properly? These were children, sir. Their mothers have been waiting a very long time to bring them home."

Lynch muttered reproachfully about slow police work, words every Cold Case detective has heard ad nauseum, and Kasia was undeterred by them. She asked if there were any dogs in the yard, her own dog straining anxiously at her lead.

"No. Barry is afraid of dogs."

"Let them in, Colin," said his wife gruffly, looking beaten. "Go unlock the gate and open the garage door."

Kasia entered the yard first, releasing Athena. At first glance there was no sign of previous excavation for the fictional swimming pool Mercer had gotten a permit to build. _A pool for his son who had no friends to invite over, none he would risk to his father's mercurial wrath, his sociopathy, his son who now lay on a slab, forever out of his father's manic reach._

The others deferred to Kasia, standing by as she walked the perimeter of the yard, crawling on her hands and knees in spots, her fingers trailing over the fissures in the ground that a passing glance would miss. Athena was snuffling out her own trail, reading her own story, and Kasia watched her, chafing her cold hands against her coat. From opposite sides of the yard, the eyes of the dog and the woman met, both shining with certainty. Athena barked once, as if to ask what they were all waiting for, her tail raised stiffly.

Kasia signaled the others, and they came flooding in, carrying tarps and shovels and tables for the sorting and sifting of evidence. A mini skid hoe was driven in from the street to break ground, and an air of reverence enclosed the place, sealing them all off from the rest of the world.

It was grueling, exacting work, and they proceeded with extreme care as soon as the first clod of earth was turned, watching Kasia and Athena for cues. Kasia dug right along with them, following the promptings of her gut, treating each shovelful as potential evidence of the young lives taken so many years ago.

When they reached a depth of three feet, Kasia called off the skid hoe and asked for shovels only, turned slowly and with great care. They were all sweating with effort now, coats discarded and sleeves rolled up and noses running from the cold.

Julian found the first set of bones, and part of a small skull, and they were carried carefully by a tech to the tables for examination. Kasia had to turn away for a moment, assailed by the memory of the mass graves she had seen at what had once been Treblinka, one of the most notorious of the Nazi death camps, deep in the heart of Poland.

Both she and Arie had made the trip there when they turned 18, to see the ruins of Auschwitz and the village their family had once called home, to see where they had lived, and died. At Treblinka, they had wandered away from the small group they were with and into the forest. The Nazis had buried so many people there that when it rained, skulls could be seen leering from the earth, skulls without number. It was raining heavily that day, and their guide, a forensic archaeologist, found them both frozen in place, speechless and staring, water streaming from their hair and down their faces.

Kasia pretended to wipe sweat from her forehead, her stomach rolling over at the memory that would not leave her alone. A look passed between Julian and Audrey that Kasia did not see, intent as she was now on getting a closer look at the bones. They had a pocked, melted sort of sheen. The forensics team was discussing their appearance in barely audible tones.

"Did he use quicklime?" Kasia asked them.

"Looks like sulfuric acid. We'll know more when we get them back to the lab."

"Will you be able to get DNA?"

Unknown, at this point. We'll put a rush on whatever we find here today."

Someone else called out. More bone fragments and pieces of heavy plastic sheeting that had most likely served as a burial shroud. Kasia went back to her shovel, longing for Al so suddenly and so violently the shovel slipped from her hands. She picked it up shakily, grimly glad for the distraction of the meticulous toil the rest of the day promised.

* * *

It was Friday night, and Kasia made it home just before sunset, in time for the lighting of the candles. Al was helping his daughter move this weekend, and she would probably not see him until next week or later. His absence was like a sore tooth, the pain constant, and she could not help poking at it with her thoughts, making it bleed. She would have to learn how to harden herself against it, to let a scar form over the spaces between, when she could not be with him. Woods would make sure those times were abundant.

It was good to wash away the dirt and sweat of the day, though none of the raw emotion it had left behind was loosened. Maybe doing normal things would quell her simmering thoughts. She needed groceries, and her door was still broken, everything still blackened where the CSI techs had dusted for prints. Replacing what had been destroyed could fill part of the weekend, and they had not even begin to sift through Max Mercer's financials, which felt far more pressing at the moment.

She stepped reluctantly from the shower, toweled off and dressed, leaving the towel on her head as she trailed into the kitchen. Her laptop sat waiting on the counter, a plastic bag next to it containing what Kasia knew to be the remains of Chynelle Kenner's necklace. May Kenner's words rose poignantly to the surface as if someone had shouted them, a nonexistent echo through the empty house. ' _She still here somewhere, in the neighborhood, somewhere close by. I can feel it_.' How sadly correct she had been. Kasia could not give Mrs. Kenner the news until DNA had been confirmed, and by some divine providence the press had not caught wind of their efforts today. Yet.

She had just made arrangements online to have her door repaired and her ruined furniture hauled away when Kim Burgess called, inviting her to Molly's. Getting shitfaced was just the remedy Kasia needed, but there was too much in the way. She agreed to stop by for a short time anyway, and dried and straightened her hair, changing into something that didn't look like she had just come from the methadone clinic.

* * *

Molly's was crowded, and Kasia found Kim holding a table, a couple other detectives from Intelligence seated across from her. Kasia joined them, sliding into a chair next to Kim, and introductions were made. Atwater, and Ruzek. The usual good-to-meetchas were exchanged, and the two men returned to their discussion of some Colombian drug lord. Cops never really left work for the day; they just changed locations.

"You look great," Kim said exuberantly, touching Kasia's smooth hair.

"Less derelict than usual," Kasia quipped. "So do you, but then you always do."

"I can't believe how long your hair is."

"My hair doesn't get longer, it gets...bigger, unless I straighten it. Wait till summer when it goes into full Chaka Khan mode. You'll see." Kasia laughed self-effacingly.

Kim leaned closer to whisper in Kasia's ear. "I don't know what you're doing to Al, but he's much easier to work with lately. Please keep doing it." Kasia covered her face, laughing.

A quiet pause came and went. "I heard about your dig today," Kim said. "I hope you nail the bastard."

"Me too. Before Woods or the Ivory Tower try shutting us down again. Leave it to me to pick the one case that would make me a pariah at 21. I hope the DNA results come back quickly. Speaking of Woods, what do all of you know about his vendetta against Voight? How deep does this thing go?" She avoided mentioning that she had already asked Al about him, not wanting to give him or herself away. These three could have valuable insights she could use.

"Woods ain't gonna make you a pariah," put in Atwater. Very masculine, good-looking and entirely comfortable in his own skin. Kasia sensed that he was soft-hearted beneath it all. He reminded her of Al. "We got your back," he added.

"Thanks," Kasia replied almost shyly.

Ruzek jumped in. "As for Woods, we heard you've already seen him in action. If it's stories of his prior bad acts you want, you've come to the right place. But first we need more alcohol. Hey, Otis!" Ruzek whistled, lifting a hand regally and making a crack about the poor service here. Kim poked him, laughing, the bond between them that had been sorely tested of late still very much in evidence. Elad seeped into Kasia's thoughts, and for a moment she was reminded how that kind of connection is never fully severed, even by death. She remembered the words she had said to Al their first evening together. 'Everything since him has felt like a betrayal, until now'.

"Otis? Do you mean Brian Zvonecek? CFD?" Kasia asked Ruzek.

"Yep."

"He's an old friend of mine." Kasia stood up to look around for Otis, who had just ducked into the kitchen, and from across the room she saw patrolman Ava Anderson watching her shrewdly. Anderson smiled lazily at Kasia. _She looks really broken up over Grant Mercer's death_. Anderson lifted her glass in a mock toast as if reading Kasia's thoughts, and Kasia nodded acknowledgment coldly, filing away this little detail for later. She suddenly longed to leave, to be home in front of her laptop, picking apart Anderson's personal life and Max Mercer's finances and the details of his retirement and anything she could find on Woods past the sanitized public persona and IAB approved soundbytes.

She hadn't seen Brian approach, gaze still trailing after Anderson. He hugged her boisterously, then held her out in front of him by both arms as if for inspection. "You look like someone just walked on your grave."

"It's good to see you, too." She hugged him this time. "Can you sit? Catch up?"

"I want a rematch," he answered boldly. "I've been waiting for this for a long time."

"Still carrying a grudge, Brian? Bring it on," Kasia chuckled darkly. She wouldn't get any dirt on Woods this way, unless more alcohol loosened some tongues. Regrettable, but she couldn't let Brian's challenge go unanswered when Polish pride was as stake.

"Hey, Hermann! Bring us a bottle of Stoli and two glasses!" Otis bellowed. The table erupted in howling jeers and catcalls, and wagering began, Kim betting $20 on Kasia and Ruzek putting $40 on Otis. Atwater called Switzerland and backed away laughing, his hands in the air.

"Never challenge Slavic girls, Otis," Ruzek said sagely. "You of all people should know better."

"Yet you're still betting on me," Otis said, looking wounded.

"It's okay, Brian. I'll make sure someone pours you into a car afterwards," said Kasia smoothly. "Someone take his keys."

Hermann brought the bottle and glasses, crowing about Molly's latest acquisition, a karaoke machine. Kim groaned, and Ruzek threw an arm around her affectionately.

"Let's make a video," Otis suggested.

"Stop stalling and drink," said Kasia, pouring them each a finger of vodka. They glared at each other across the table with false animosity and tossed back the vodka, coughing and sputtering, sucking in air. Otis tucked his thumbs into his armpits, flapping his arms like wings.

"God, that hurt," he wheezed.

"Another?" said Kasia brightly.

"Please."

She poured again, lifting her glass merrily. " _Na zdrowie_."

Ruzek sang a few bars of 'Hurts So Good', Otis fighting laughter and spitting vodka.

"You didn't finish that," scolded Kasia. "Are you giving up, _Rosja_?"

"You. Wish."

Kasia lifted an eyebrow, raising her glass again. Atwater and Ruzek pounded out a drumroll on the table, and Hermann called out something about an ambulance from behind the bar. A small crowd was gathering around the challengers, and the pile of money in the center of the table was growing. Kim poured the next round.

* * *

Al had just pulled up to his house when his phone beeped at him for the second time since he had left Lexi's boyfriend's apartment. He was tired, heartsick over her choice and her living arrangements. This was not how he had imagined his baby girl leaving home; in his version, Lexi was much older, a college graduate with a ring on her finger, given to her by someone who could provide more than artsy-fartsy digs and empty promises.

He had congratulated himself all the way home for not breaking the guy's jaw, for not doing anything to make Lexi cry. Time enough for that when the little prick broke her heart and he had to pick up the pieces and move her back home again to a place that wasn't home to him anymore in any sense of the word. Why the hell had he come back here tonight?

The first message was from Lexi. _Thx Dad Luv U_ followed by a chain of hearts. He smiled sadly. The second message was a video from Kasia. She was at Molly's singing a karaoke version of 'Love in an Elevator' with Burgess, Ruzek, Otis and a couple of firefighters whose names Al couldn't remember. He heard little of the song; it was only background noise that gave him an excuse to stare at her, to watch the way she moved, coded messages only he would understand, meant only for him. He had to see her, bury his hands in all the glorious hair that would feel like a thousand strands of silk against his skin.

He watched the video again, listening this time, the car engine still idling, waiting. They didn't sound half bad for a bunch of drunks. The video timestamp was over two hours ago now. He called Molly's to see if she was still there, and when Hermann told him she wasn't he took off for Wrigleyville at a speed that was sure to get him pulled over, but didn't.

The lights were still on when he pulled up to her curb. He could see her through the newly-repaired window as he approached the door; she was sipping coffee, propped up against her kitchen counter, peering at her laptop. Her feet were bare. God, how he wanted her.

He watched her react as the dog began making noises. Like a soldier. Alert, instantly poised for action. Definitely not drunk.

"Kasia, it's Al. Call off the dog," he shouted, a smile in his voice. The door, still broken, was wrenched open seconds later. Athena did a little dance around his legs, poking him once with her snout.

"Looks like you've been accepted into the pack," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. He gave her no chance to say more, taking her breath away, his fingers crawling over her scalp. She tasted like toothpaste and Irish coffee.

He gave her a few seconds to catch her breath. "When are you getting that door fixed?"

"Tomorrow. Which is today now, I suppose."

"Still drunk?"

"Kinda. I started slamming coffee when I got home, trying to counteract the worst of it. Brian will probably need to call in sick today, though."

"Put your shoes on and get your coat," he told her, a slow smile spreading across his face. Kasia looked up at him questioningly from under her dark lashes.

"Where are we going?"

"Willis Tower."

She chortled softly, a sound he liked very much. "Isn't it closed right now?" she said.

"I know a guy."

"Why Willis Tower?" _Must have something to do with Woods_ , she thought.

"Best elevators in the city," he replied, smirking.

She put on her shoes and coat in record time and raced him to the car.

* * *

Saturday passed slowly. Kasia's house was emptied as her ruined furniture was hauled away, and a new sofa was delivered. Her vacation fund was going to be drained, replacing everything that had been destroyed.

She made a trip to the grocery store, and the hardware store, where she bought some paint to cover up the swastika on her living room wall. Went home and made chicken marsala to eat later and painted the wall in her echoing house and settled in the kitchen with a pot of tea and her laptop.

Max Mercer had income stashed all over the place, cleverly hidden behind bogus shell LLCs that looked perfectly legit: private security, home remodeling. A bar near the Loop. His tax records were equally benign looking, and the numbers likely completely false. Everything here was fiction. Any attempt to score information from those on Mercer's payroll would be immediately suspect and lead Mercer straight to her, or worse, Al and Voight. She was in constant contact with Julian and Audrey, fearing for their safety.

What she needed most was someone on the inside, and she wondered if Lemarcus or one of his friends might be up to the challenge if she promised a big enough payoff. She set Mercer aside for a while to look at Ava Anderson's social media accounts. There was nothing outwardly suspicious that stood out; Anderson seemed to be apolitical, focused on dating and the mating dance like most women her age. She said very little about her job on Twitter or Facebook or Instagram. All three accounts were merely showcases for her seemingly endless stream of selfies. _A streak of narcissism there_. Kasia snorted disdainfully and moved on.

She pulled up Denny Woods' record of service. The official CPD propaganda told her nothing new, only what the Ivory Tower would want broadcasted. Woods was smart enough to avoid social media, leaving no trail to follow there, only mentions of him by others.

Woods had a daughter, Brianna, who apparently did not share her father's distaste for social media; she was all over the internet, a friendly little butterfly with thousands of contacts and followers. Kasia created a false Facebook persona complete with a stock photo of a fresh-faced girl, and Kylie Barnes was born. 'Kylie' sent Brianna and a few others a friend request. "Kasia, you old fraud," she snickered. How serendipitous it was that Brianna liked all the same music and sports teams and aspired to the same colleges as Kylie Barnes. Before too long, they'd be BFFs.

Three minutes later, Brianna approved Kasia's friend request. Kasia now had access to Brianna's copious catalog of photos, many of her mugging with her daddy. Kasia knew if she posted a couple of compliments on Brianna's wall, the girl would open up like an unread book. It was too soon for that, and Kasia settled for a 'hi' with a few cutesy-poo emojis. Technology was useful but sometimes deadly to self-respect, a necessary evil that Kasia would happily shun if it weren't so vital to the job. With some luck there would be inroads here, a picture that would form, weapons she could use against Woods. Fake social media accounts were a small indignity to suffer compared to Woods ruining Al, or even sending him to prison.

Poor Al, who hadn't slept and had gone to help his daughter finish settling in and then been called back to work. 'Caught a heater,' he had texted her. She whispered a prayer for his safety and began watching POD footage of the front entrance to Max Mercer's supposed private security company. It was boring viewing, and Kasia began to suspect after an hour that anyone entering the place did so by the back entrance, out of range of the PODs, until Patrolman Ava Anderson went sailing through the street entrance like it was her own front door, and Kasia's heart skipped a beat,

* * *

Al stood by, arms crossed nonchalantly, the dutiful second lieutenant as Voight tore into the second dirtbag they had brought in today, whose boss was already safely caged in the basement. If their stories didn't match, there was a good chance one of them would be going sightseeing at whatever abandoned silos Voight felt most like taking him to.

Al chewed thoughtfully on a toothpick, letting the little maggot wonder if Al would come to the rescue as the good cop if Voight lost it. Al gave the man his best Mister Sensitivity look just to watch feckless hope grow in the perp's eyes. It was a game he never tired of playing.

Voight was leaning in for the kill, strong fingers clutching the man's collar, tightening, closing off his windpipe. "I'm gonna count to three," Voight said, sounding like stone scraping stone. "If I don't get the answer I want by then, we're gonna take a ride. Three."

The perp whimpered something airlessly, and Voight stood back to wait for an audible answer when someone knocked on the door. It was Atwater. "Woods is here. He wants to talk to you, Al."

"Just me?"

"Yeah, bro. He's in Voight's office." Atwater stepped in to take Al's place. Al dragged himself to Voight's office.

"Detective Olinsky," purred Woods, inviting Al in as if this were Woods' private office.

"What do you want?" sneered Al.

"Actually, I'm here to help you out with something. Someone, really. I thought you deserved to know the truth about your side piece. Kasia." He deliberately mispronounced her name. Even said wrong by someone Al hated, that name had the power to move him, physically, mentally, and he struggled to keep his expression neutral.

"Leave her alone, Woods."

"You'll probably want to take that advice yourself after you hear me out. You see, Al, she works for me. I planted her here as an IAB liaison. But, since you've gotten personally involved with her, I felt I owed it to you to tell you. Frankly, I'm surprised you were gullible enough to fall for her act. Did you actually believe her orphan of the Holocaust story? Or that her meteoric rise through the ranks was simply the result of hard work? No, Olinsky. I made her. She's my creation. My employee."

"So that's why you busted up her house, Woods? To thank her for her efforts?"

Woods betrayed surprise he did not intend, but recovered quickly. "I didn't, but I wish I'd thought of that. It would have thrown you off the trail even more."

For one long, faltering moment Al drowned, considering it. "So you're telling me all this out of some sense of misplaced compassion?"

"No. I'm telling you as a warning. I've got eyes everywhere, Olinsky. I'll have to pull Kreczmar out now, reassign her elsewhere."

"Because she won't stop working a case you tried to warn her off of," Al spat. "To protect your buddy, Mercer."

"Believe that, if it makes you feel better, Olinsky. Just don't cross me again." Woods dismissed Al with a flick of the wrist, and Al was gone before Woods could begin savoring his pain, his face a mask of fury. He didn't stop to tell Hank he was going, or where, as long as it was anywhere but here.

* * *

Al watched Kasia crumble as he recounted Woods' accusations, the same look on her face he had seen a thousand times after giving someone a notification of death. She shrank from him in horror.

"And you believed him, after I gave you my heart, you still believed him-"

"No, Kasia-"

"Yes you did, or you wouldn't be here now.I can see it in your eyes. I'm going to be sick." She ran for the bathroom and locked herself in, and he stood listening as she retched, the sound giving way to the softer noise of grief, the all-too familiar dirge that was heard when words were inadequate and out of reach.

He could stand it no more, and tapped on the bathroom door. "Please. Listen to me."

"Get out of here," she hissed, "before I call IAB and tell them you were here." She waited a few seconds before dropping the bomb she knew would wound him as he had wounded her, words that would avenge her. "Or your wife."

As he fled some part of his brain took note of the freshly painted wall in her front room, the swastika bleeding through, still visible, and it tore at his heart; a more impactful symbol of the life he had just torn apart he could not have manufactured if he had tried.

* * *

Kasia bounced shortly after, the stench of vomit and the staring walls unbearable, escaping to a Jewish-owned deli she frequented often, a place where she could sit and listen to conversations in Polish and Russian and Yiddish, sparse and grumbling speech that was the closest thing to home she had. She was well known here, and no one disturbed her thoughts, which she could not have given voice to if she tried.

She could not have said later how long she sat there, her head pressed against the side of the booth, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles were white. She did not move until raw emotion became cold purpose; when it did, she rose and left, and drove mechanically home.

She showered, washing away the smell of vomit, and dressed in a black turtleneck and black jeans and black fur-lined boots, dried her hair and bundled it up into a thick knit cap. Sat down and powered on her laptop and signed into Facebook, scrolling through Brianna Woods' photos until she finally found one of the front of Brianna's house. She saved the image, then plugged it into Google Images, finding the address.

She pulled on her coat and told Athena to wait for her. The walk to the train station was cold, exactly what she needed, the air burning her lungs, cleansing her mind of everything but the task ahead.

The train was half-empty, mostly drunks who had left their entire social security checks in the till of some bar and now faced a new week ahead with no food and no hope. They paid her no mind, assuming her to be one of them.

She departed the L and walked the five blocks to Woods' street briskly, the activity warming her muscles. Luck was with her; the building directly across from Woods' had a fire escape in the back that she could use to gain access to the roof, bypassing any nosy residents. Near the top floor, someone came out to smoke a cigarette, and she froze, hidden in the darkness of a moonless night, barely breathing until they were gone.

Reaching the roof was an exercise in terror; the old building was elaborately corniced, and she had to hang out over open space and swing back and forth until she could wedge her foot into a groove in the design and haul herself up.

Once she made the roof, she shimmied around an old, disused dovecote and sighed in satisfaction at the panoramic view of Woods' building. The lights were on. She pulled her sniper rifle from under her coat and sprawled on her stomach in a tactical wait, the rifle propped on the top of the cornice. She adjusted the scope until the windows came sharply and clearly into view, estimating the range to the target to be just under 200 yards. She was warm enough, though thirsty; she had drunk nothing to avoid a complaining bladder now. She remembered then Al telling her about wearing adult diapers on long stakeouts, and a bolt of pain at the thought of him shot up from her toes to the crown of her head.

She made small movements periodically to keep from going numb, and she was just beginning to wonder if anyone was home when Woods appeared in the second floor window, talking animatedly to someone just out of sight. His wife, maybe, or Brianna. It would be far better to catch him alone, but so be it. If Brianna had to watch her father's head explode, it wouldn't be the end of the world, and the world would be a better place without Woods in it.

Kasia was transfused with guilt then. This was the same reasoning the Nazis had used, and so many before them and after them. Her finger momentarily loosened on the trigger, her resolve shaken. _No. This piece of shit lied about me, about my family and what was done to them, to the person I love more than anyone else in the world, and he's going to pay._

Brianna moved into range, instantly recognizable from her Facebook profile. _I could really rock his world if I took her out instead._ She waited until Brianna finally moved and Woods was dead center in the window and squeezed off a shot, the window exploding and obscuring her view. She did not wait to see if he had been hit, and scrambled to the roof door that led to the inside stairs, hopping over the rails in mid-staircase to the staircase below over and over again to speed her escape, her back pierced with jarring pain with each leap. She encountered no obstacles, and made it back to the train just as the distant sound of sirens reached her ears.


	10. Chapter 10

Kasia crept in through the back door at 21 in the leaden pre-dawn of what promised to be a day filled with snow, her back aching from the gymnastics on the stairs the night before, her gut twisted with apprehension. The news reports on the attempted assassination of Woods reported no suspect yet, only speculation on the make of the weapon used and its country of origin. The round she had fired had not been recovered yet; it had passed through the meat of Woods' upper arm, and he had undergone surgery at Chicago Med with no complications. If Woods had died, the press would be canonizing him as a hero, running hastily assembled anthologies of the highlights of his career. _How the hell did I miss? Woods leads a charmed life._

The first thing Woods would do when he woke from the fog of painkillers would be to target Al and Voight for this. She had to come clean, if only to protect them from what she had tried and failed to protect them from. Her stomach lurched painfully at the thought of all the increased surveillance, all the wackjobs who owed Woods favors that would now be called in as he sought vengeance. _Because I missed._ She muttered something unintelligible and trudged upstairs, her sleepless eyes burning, her laptop under one arm.

"Morning," Trudy called softly from behind the desk. "Hear about Woods?"

"Yeah. What a shame."

Trudy snickered, quickly parsing Kasia's words. They shared a look no one else would have noticed or understood.

"Is Voight here yet, Trudy? I need to talk to him for a minute."

"No, but Alvin is. Hank's on the way in. Want me to buzz you up?"

.

"No. I'll wait for Voight." Pain lanced through her spine as she took a seat in the waiting area. She didn't have to wait long.

"Sergeant Voight. I need a minute," she called when Voight appeared.

"My office," Voight answered, gesturing toward the stairs with the cup of coffee he carried.

* * *

"I took the shot at Woods," Kasia told Voight bluntly as soon as they were behind the closed door. "I wanted you to know so you and Al could get your alibis for last night in order."

Voight didn't need to ask why she had done it, it was written all over her face. He had nothing but empathy for their situation, though he generally took a dim view of intimate relationships within his unit, he was not about to discourage Al where this girl was concerned when it was so obvious what they felt for each other was the real deal, though something seemed off this morning.

"I won't stand by and do nothing if she gets popped for this, Hank," Al warned.

"She won't by me. It's just too bad you didn't blow his brains out, Kreczmar. I'm good for last night. You, Al?"

"Yeah. I stopped by my daughter's place, left there late. Met a friend at a bar. He'll vouch for me."

"The last thing I wanted was to make you both bigger targets," said Kasia grimly, her eyes shining with angry tears.

"We're good," Voight replied. "It'll get handled. It was only a matter of time before someone took a shot at that prick." He reached out and squeezed her forearm companionably.

"There's more," Kasia went on. She quickly laid out her suspicions about Patrolman Ava Anderson, including the strange encounter at Molly's, then showed them both the POD footage of Anderson waltzing into Max Mercer's bogus security company.

Al and Voight exchanged a terse glance. "This changes things. Intelligence is involved now. We'll have to find a way to keep Vice and Financial Crimes and the Gang Unit out of it. Mercer's got his hooks deeper into 21 than even I realized."

"And we've got the Ivory Tower against us, along with Woods," Al added.

"For now. Keep your radio close, Kasia. We'll be in touch."

* * *

It was amazing how quickly life returned to exactly what it had been before she and Al had collided, as if it had never happened at all, though her aching back and the crushing pain in her chest was a constant reminder that it had. How skilled she had grown at sealing off whole sections of her life. It was disturbing. Probably a blessing, here in this place where everyone was a potential enemy. Threat assessment came first. She had lapsed, but she wouldn't again. Better to devise three ways to take them out within the first few seconds and avoid showing the kind of weakness she had succumbed to. For all Al knew, Woods had been right and Kasia had been inserted here only to report back to him and Mercer. Now he knew better, and so did Voight.

Audrey and Julian arrived a short while later, and Kasia put them to work on the preliminaries of their next cases; which would likely be left to the two of them if things played out as Kasia surmised. For now, she needed to be alone, holed up in her office, a door between her and the rest of the world.

She logged into her fake Facebook account using Tor and a proxy server. Woods had probably increased security on his daughter's social media exchanges. Brianna had posted a novelette about the attack on her father, complete with selfies of her looking stricken at his bedside, IV tubes sprouting from the top of his hand, Brianna's fingers curled around the bedrails as if she might faint. 'OMG R U OK?' Kasia posted in the comments section, adding a few weeping emojis and a set of praying hands. _Barf. May an incurable infection set in and baffle the doctors, finishing what I started, may it whisk you swiftly off to Sheol_.

She read the latest news reports on the shooting next, unaware that upstairs, Al was on the phone with a friend at CTA, making a deal to get the video footage of Kasia getting on and off the train last night deleted. She had kept her head down, her hair hidden under a hat, an unrecognizable wraith in black, except to him. He had to find a way to make it right with her before the day was out.

Kasia phoned the M.E.'s office as soon as they opened. The test results on the bones were still not back, and even with a rush order it could still be several more days. She barely had time to hang up when Arie called.

"Hey. How are you?" he asked solicitously.

"I'm fantastic. You?"

"Liar."

"Never could fool you."

"I had a feeling. Lunch? Around one? At that deli near the courthouse?"

"Reubens?"

"Yeah. Extra sauerkraut."

"Deal."

"I got Mercer's frivolous lawsuit against you thrown out. Thought you might be up for some good news."

Thanks, Arie. How right you are."

"You can tell me all about the rest at lunch. See you then."

"Love you."

"You too."

She couldn't hide in her office all day, tempting as it was, and her back hurt worse while sitting. She put on her coat and hat and whistled at Athena. Time to seek the kind of solace only action could provide.

"Change of plans," she announced, back out in the bullpen again. "Julian, we can't raid Mercer's place without some probable cause. Go see if you can poach someone from the Academy that we can embed somehow. Audrey, take a run by Mercer's bar, the place near the Loop. Stop in, have a drink. Speak to the neighboring business the lay of the land. Keep your radios with you, both of you. Intelligence is involved with the case now." She explained quickly about Anderson, moving toward the back exit. "I have to take care of a couple things personally."

Athena was bright-eyed and ready for action, and she got some as soon as they hit the parking lot. There were two suits standing next to her car, and another kneeling beside it, groping beneath the driver's side seat. "Looking for something?" she called, making one of them jump. The one searching under the seat scrambled hastily to his feet, his knees wet from the snow that had fallen earlier.

"Is this your car?"

"Yes it is. And this is my dog. If you don't want to become intimately acquainted with her, I suggest you back away right now."

One of them flashed an ornate badge. "Federal agents. Where's the rifle?"

"What rifle?"

"The one you keep under the seat? A Dan .338? The one you used to take a shot at Lieutenant Denny Woods?"

"Not there, apparently." _I wonder who's tearing up my house right now looking for it._ She had stashed the rifle in the basement rafters. _Should have thrown it in the lake._

"Where does a humble CFD Sergeant get the kind of cash to buy a Giulietta?" drawled the florid man slouching behind Wet Pants.

"I bought it at a police auction. Check the records for yourself." Athena was still growling, and Kasia made no move to stop her. "I presume you have a warrant to search my car and house?" Wet Pants winced a little at the last word. _A-ha_.

"Exigent circumstances, Sergeant."

"What's going on here?" Voight rasped with menace from behind Kasia, closing the distance between them quickly, Al at his side. Athena burbled a happy greeting at Al, her tail wagging once. He scratched her behind the ear affectionately.

"We need to ask her a few questions about where she was last night."

"Not without her FOP rep you don't."

"She was with me," said Al. "All night."

"You're prepared to back that up?"

"Yeah. Say when, and where."

Only a handful of people knew about the sniper rifle and where she kept it, and one of them had dropped a dime on her. The Dan .338 was marketed worldwide, but it wouldn't matter. She was hopelessly jammed up now.

"If you have any more questions, call my lawyer, Assistant State's Attorney Arie Kreczmar. Now get the fuck away from my car," Kasia spat venomously. Al moved closer to her, sliding an arm around her shaking shoulders. She leaned against him instinctively before rational thought could move her away, and stayed there. The Feds retreated, four pairs of eyes watching them, and Kasia began to breathe again.

"They know. I'm screwed. You shouldn't have done that, Al. You'll never get out from under all the scrutiny now."

"Some things are more important."

Their eyes finally met, and everything that had come between them began to crumble.

"Hank, could you give us a couple of minutes?" Al said, gazing steadily at Kasia, unwilling to look away.

"Yeah. Then we gotta roll." Voight strode away.

Al pulled Kasia into his arms then, heedless of who might be watching. "I'm sorry," he mumbled into her hair.

"So am I," she whispered back. "We both got played. Maybe all of this is a sign. Woods. Mercer. The ."

"A sign of what?"

"That it's time to leave Chicago. The corruption runs too deep. I signed up for people like Chynelle Kenner. Like Nadia Decotis. You know what they say about fighting monsters."

"Where will you go that's any different than here?"

She pulled away so she could look into his eyes. "I don't know, but I'm begging you, come with me, before they can do worse to you than they've already done, before it's too late."

Al chuckled softly. "You didn't listen to any of my messages, did you?"

"No. Why?"

"Because I asked you the same thing."

"I love you, Al."

"I know. I love you, too."

They used the next moment to finish the conversation without words, until there was nothing more to be said, for now.

* * *

Kasia drove to Wrigleyville as fast as the speed limit allowed, her radio on the seat beside her. When she reached her block she was met with the sight of two of her neighbors standing on the sidewalk, talking in hushed tones, their faces pointed directly at her house, which meant the Feds had already tossed the place and gone. She grimaced at the thought of having to put the house back together again so soon after the break-in.

It was even worse inside this time. Athena raced from room to room, her nose to the floor, following the trails the intruders had left behind. They had dumped out every drawer, emptied every cabinet. Everything lay in heaps on the floor. _As if a fucking sniper rifle was hidden in the silverware drawer_. In the bedroom, they had torn the sheets off her bed, the slashed mattress that she hadn't replaced yet gaping at her, her panties strewn everywhere. Payback for her earlier insolence, and they had probably left a few cameras hidden among the wreckage, and a microphone or two.

 _Should I check the basement, or will it be more obvious if I don't_? Indecision gnawed at her until defiance won. Down the stairs, her weight feeling insupportable on weak knees.

They had torn through the carefully packed boxes containing her father's book collection, and she would have to step on the books to move in any direction. There was no sign they had searched the rafters, the ladder was right where she had left it, but that could be just another ruse. She scanned the space, careful not to let her gaze drift upward.

From where she stood on the bottom step, she could see an old Polish volume of Grimm's Fairy Tales her father had used to read to her and Arie, and they had later read aloud to each other, playing all the parts, speaking with great lumbering accents or soft trilling tones that promised wonder or danger until they were squealing with laughter or silent with fear.

She made her way over to the book without damaging the others, and carried it back upstairs with her, where she packed a suitcase with quick, angry movements and filled a paper sack with food for Athena and they were on the road again.

She pulled into a parking lot a few blocks from her destination in Wicker Park and let the car idle while she made a call.

"Indigo Hour."

"Hi, Kionte. It's Kasia."

"Miz Kasia! How are you?"

"I'm okay. I need a room, Kionte. Is your mama there?"

"Yes, I'll get her. Hold on."

Kasia rooted through her purse for cigarettes she didn't have while she waited for Glorianne Bullard to pick up, listening to the faint strains of soft jazz playing in the lobby where Kionte had left the phone receiver dangling from the reception desk.

"Miz Kreczmar. It is a pleasure to hear from you," Glorianne said in her shimmering way; she had a voice like warm sunshine, a striking woman with flawless cocoa skin and large almond shaped eyes and cheekbones that would make royalty look common by comparison.

"I need a room, Glorianne. Do you have any vacancies?"

"For you? Of course I do."

"Would I be able to bring a guest?"

"You got a beau, sugar? Well, that's splendid news. About time, too."

Glorianne was rewarded with a throaty chuckle from Kasia. "I do. He's a detective. Old school. Alvin Olinsky. You'll like him."

"Let me see if he's on my list."

"Okay. Thanks."

The Indigo Hour was something between a hotel and the most exclusive club in Chicago, but more than both, and only those who were deemed part of the tapestry of Chicago history were allowed entry, if they could find the place at all. The main entrance was hidden in an elaborate wall mural depicting the Chicago skyline that in summer was completely covered with ivy, and guests had to find their way through it to get in.

Kasia and Arie had been members since childhood because of their father, who had brought them for the experience of Chicago as it had once been and still was behind the door, fine dining and even better music, opulent decor in varying shades of indigo that evoked the past until guests were immersed in it and time no longer held any meaning; a living repository of history kept alive by the Bullard family down through the generations. Many of Chicago's greats had spent time there:Edgar Rice Burroughs, Ray Bradbury, John Chancellor, Michael Crichton, Roger Ebert. Her father had been especially fond of William L. Shirer and Mortimer Adler, who had been regulars.

Kasia tapped out a beat to match the dim music wafting in over the phone until Glorianne picked up again. "Your man checks out. Antoine knows him. He's welcome here," Glorianne told her.

"That's great. I'm a few blocks away. I'll be there in a few."

"See you then, sugar pie."

Unwelcome insight flared in Kasia's roiling thoughts, and she got out of the car and knelt beside it, groping under the wheel well, feeling her way with cold fingers. Sure enough. Bastards. She pulled out the GPS tracker they had placed there, tossing it in a nearby dumpster. An old woman came slouching out of a back door to throw her own trash in, glowering at Kasia. Kasia ignored her and turned away. She tried to brush some of the filth from her pants and coat, but only made it worse. She would have to face Glorianne as she was.

Moments later she was warm and enjoying the welcome of the Indigo Hour, apologizing to Glorianne for her appearance. The place was formal dress only at all times downstairs, and Kasia ducked into a curtained alcove to avoid being seen by any of the guests.

Glorianne seemed not to care, and embraced Kasia warmly, the heady scent of the lavender oil she always wore filling Kasia's nostrils. It was a scent that brought back a rush of memories of her father, and her brother as a child. They had sat shiva for her father here after he died; Glorianne had covered every mirror in the place and cleared out anyone not there to honor his memory.

"Let's get you up to your room. How long do you want to stay?"

"Forever, but let's start with a week for now."

"That's fine. That's just fine. Will you join us for dinner tonight?"

"I will tomorrow night. Tonight I just want to sleep. It's been awhile."

"Because of him, or the job."

"Both."

The stairs were steep and thickly carpeted, and Kasia had to watch her every step to avoid jarring her back, Athena huffing along behind them. It was a mystery how Glorianne could move with such practiced grace up the stairs in heels so high.

The room was everything Kasia could have wished for, the bed hung with heavy velvet curtains, a clawfooted tub with a wrap-around shower curtain, an ancient wardrobe that had probably come around the Horn of Africa on a pirate ship. There was a large bowl of dried lavender on the bedside table, the whole room aromatic with it. Kasia sighed happily. An indigo hideaway.

"This is perfect, Glori," Kasia murmured happily.

"You make yourself at home. The room is yours for as long as you want it. When the dog needs to go out, you can take her down the staircase at the far end of the hall. There's a nice area for her out back, between the buildings."

"Okay. Thanks."

It would be only too easy to curl up in that magnificent bed and sleep for a few hours, but Kasia stayed only long enough to change her clothes and clean off her coat. She beckoned Athena forlornly and they were off, out into the gray day again. The sky had lightened some, and there might be a chance for sunshine later.

* * *

Patrolman Ava Anderson flounced indignantly into the box, Voight and Olinsky already waiting for her there.

"Have a seat," said Voight cordially, nearly cracking a smile.

"I don't understand why I'm here. You pulled me off patrol for this? What do you want?"

"I want you to tell us what you were doing at Mercer's security company." Voight signalled Al, and he played the video footage.

"I already told you, I work security for him sometimes."

"Who got you the gig?" asked Al.

"Grant, Mercer's son. He used to be my partner."

"He used to be partners with a lot of people," Al jeered, raising an eyebrow.

"Who have you worked security for?" said Voight, perched on the edge of the table across from Anderson, throwing her off her game. Al remained standing as he usually did; he found it unbalanced them when they had to look up at him while their eyes were darting back and forth between Hank and himself.

"Rock bands. Visiting execs, usually foreigners. Actors. Politicians."

"It'll be easy enough for us to subpoena the books. We'll find two sets, after you report back to Mercer and he cooks the books. The real ones. You really wanna go down with him? You know he's facing multiple murder charges, right?"

"I heard. He's not worried."

"You should be, if you want any kind of career with the Department. That why you became a cop, Anderson? To learn how to be a better criminal, like Mercer?"

"Are you charging me with something?"

"Not yet."

Anderson looked genuinely worried for the first time. Al studied her from under the brim of his hat. Pretty enough to have grown accustomed to getting what she wanted, too flippant to keep it. She had probably been a fast-fuck-and-forget-it for quite a few well-known local celebrities. Kasia danced through his mind; the exact opposite, the kind of woman a man would fight to hold onto.

"I know why you're jamming me up," said Anderson primly, her chin lifting. She looked straight at Al. "To impress the skank you're running around with."

"That just earned you a five day rip and a disciplinary action. That'll be a nice black mark on your record to remember me by. I'm also going to have you transferred out. How's 26th and Cal sound?" sneered Voight.

"For what? Why?" cried Anderson.

"For talking shit about a sergeant in my shop, a sergeant who's earned it. Hit the bricks. I suggest you contact a lawyer. Don't leave town."

"Max has great lawyers. You'll be sorry."

"You'll remember saying that when you're blowing him in Stateville," Al scoffed.

Anderson stormed out, avoiding passing anywhere near Olinsky, who was bristling with barely checked rage.

"We keep her here long enough for Ruzek to do his thing?" said Al tautly.

"No need. Feds did it for us. Call your girl and update her."

* * *

Kasia pulled into a fast food lot to take Al's call, warmed by the sound of his voice and the information he shared, though her mind was still hammering away at who could have sold her out about the sniper rifle. Each possibility was more unthinkable than the last: Julian, Audrey, Arie, Zach Swinford, her old commander from the 33rd, and now, Al. It couldn't be him. It couldn't be any of them. Maybe one of the neighbors had seen her take the rifle from the car the night of the break-in. That was the only way around the truth she could live with at the moment.

When she reached May Kenner's neighborhood in East G-Park, she left the car in the parking lot of Chynelle's school and began the walk home from school as if she were Chynelle that long ago day, Athena at her side. Mrs. Kenner would have told Chynelle not to walk home alone, to take the most direct and well-traveled route so that she would be seen if anything happened, so help would come.

But it hadn't come that day. Who had Chynelle been with when Grant Mercer had lured her away, and how had he done it? The sun had probably been out that day, Chynelle in a hurry to get home and fill her empty belly with mayonnaise sandwiches or dollar store cookies or food bank mac and cheese like Kasia and Arie had done, cheap filler for poor kids to stave off hunger until their meager dinner.

There was a good chance Chynelle's teacher was still on the job at Park Elementary. Kasia turned around sharply and ran back to her car, leaving Athena inside.

The school was overheated, and Kasia carried her coat under her arm as she made her way down the main corridor to the Principal's office. The walls were plastered with life-sized self-portraits kids had painted of themselves, paper flowers in between, a banner above proclaiming _Spring Is Coming!_

Kasia inhaled. Schools always smelled the same, like chalk and farts and cheap, mass-produced food that had to be stretched enough to go around. Smelled like faux stroganoff today. She and Arie had missed many a lunch because the cafeteria food wasn't kosher, until they started bringing their own to avoid going hungry and being made fun of.

A couple of kids passed her, whispering behind their hands about her gun, and she stuffed her coat under her other arm to hide it. She reached the main office and told the receptionist why she was here, signing her name and the time on a clipboard.

"You have lovely handwriting," the secretary remarked, and Kasia smiled.

"My father taught me."

"European?"

"Yes ma'am. Polish. He was a proud American, though."

"Principal be just a moment."

"Thanks." Kasia used the time to check the news on Woods. Brianna had responded to Kasia's fake condolences on Facebook. Woods was out of Med tomorrow, physical therapy to follow. Kasia left no reply and quickly signed out of Facebook. There was a text from Julian, he had found a willing recruit at the Academy. Gina Denton. Before Kasia could look at Gina's file, the Principal came strolling out of his office.

"Hello, Sergeant. I'm Dan Fawstin." They pumped hands.

"Pleased to meet you, sir."

"Come on in. How can I help you today?"

Kasia waited until the door was closed, settling into one of the hard, wooden 1950's style kid-sized chairs which, she noted with chagrin, fit her small frame perfectly. She wondered briefly how many behinds had grown stiff in this chair while their owners were explaining their infractions or issuing apologies, and she remembered the time she had been in the hot seat for breaking the jaw of an upperclassman who had a less than favorable view of Jewish kids named Arie. She had barely escaped expulsion, and to this day did not know who had stepped in to save her.

"I'm investigating the disappearance and probable murders of Chynelle Kenner, Jade Mouton, and Raniqua Tipton, sir, formerly students here."

"Yes, of course. The whole neighborhood is buzzing about that yard being dug up. I remember all three girls. They were good kids."

"I'm hoping to find out if anyone remembers who Chynelle walked home with the day she disappeared. Does Chynelle's teacher still work here?"

"Ms. Carson? She sure does." The lunch bell rang, and Kasia jumped. Fawstin smiled at her.

"Think she'd be willing to talk to me?"

"I'll call her room."

A moment later Kasia was on her way, picking her way through the hordes of kids on their way to lunch, some calling out friendly greetings to her at the sight of her badge, others giving her a wide berth, their heads down. Which would Chynelle have done, her father in prison, her mother struggling? How had Chynelle felt when she found out the dragonfly necklace her father had bought for his baby girl was paid for with stolen cash? The necklace was in evidence now, or what remained of it, sealed up tight in a ziploc bag.

Ms. Carson was welcoming but standoffish. There was no handshake or small talk. Kasia had clearly interrupted the teacher's lunchtime, her only respite of the day.

"I won't take too much of your time, Ms. Carson. Do you remember the day Chynelle Kenner disappeared?"

"Not a day goes by I don't think of that day and wish I could go back and keep that child here."

"Do you remember who she left with that day?"

"Yes. She left with Deniece Lee. I don't know how far they walked together, if at all. They were fighting that day."

Deniece's name had been listed in the original report; attempts to question her after Chynelle was reported missing had been unsuccessful. Deniece had shut down. Maybe her memory of that day was still worth tapping now that so much time had passed and the trauma had scarred over.

"They were good girls, all of them," Carson said. "I hope they finally get some justice."

"So do I," answered Kasia. "Do you still keep in touch with Deniece?"

"I keep in touch with all the friends of the girls who went missing. We get together once a year, light some candles. Pray."

"Think she'd be willing to talk to me?" Kasia passed the teacher her card.

"I do. I think they all would. We've all been wondering about the bones you found."

"The DNA results aren't back yet."

"You think it's them?"

"Yes, I do." Kasia held her breath, waiting for the next question, for the inevitable recriminations that would come with it. _A cop did this and no one knew or cared for decades?_ The question never came.

"I'll arrange it and call you after I speak with them, Sergeant."

"Thank you. I'm sorry for interrupting your lunch."

"I'm not. Put that monster away where he belongs.

They shook hands then, and Kasia strode the now-empty halls, the halls Chynelle and her friends had once walked. This was the heart of Cold Case work to Kasia; walking the paths of the dead, listening for their echoes, seeing through their eyes. She left by the door Chynelle would have gone through that April day. The trees would be budding, the ground just starting to thaw. As she walked she took note of anything that would have been there when Chynelle passed by that day, the permanent landmarks, the unchanging details that would have drawn the attention of a little girl: the decorative moulding on the eaves of houses, the places where early flowers would be poking out from the ground, the alleys between the streets that were like a separate city unto themselves, places where kids would have gathered and played back then. Some were paved, others obstacle courses of puddles and potholes and garbage cans.

The alley behind Chynelle's house was shadowed but in good repair. Kasia took it step by step, until she found herself directly behind May Kenner's place. This is where Mercer had grabbed Chynelle, waiting in his car for Grant to lure her close enough. A hand clamped over her mouth and gone, the car driven straight into Mercer's garage and Chynelle hauled to the basement unseen only moments later, probably dead within the hour.

Kasia turned slowly, examining the back of every house facing the alley. Unless someone had been watching this spot from a second floor window with just the right angle, no one would have seen Chynelle thrown into the trunk of Mercer's car. Down the alley they would have gone, just a man and his son, familiar local residents, nothing to see here. Chynelle choking on exhaust fumes and tears and fear, unheard, embarking on the last moments of her short life.

Kasia had always been more at home with the dead than the living, an heirloom of the past that had led her to this line of work and informed her decisions since the day she had taken the oath. In some inexplicable way, those she had lost before she had been born were on the job with her in moments like these, moments she lived for and saved up in some mental scrapbook she could take out and browse when the job went off the rails or she hit an investigative wall. The work was as much for her family as the families of the victims.

She had to hurry now, or she'd be late meeting Arie She retraced her steps at a half-run, stopping at the end of the alley to look back. The sun had broken through a hole in the heavy layer of cloud cover, and a beam of light illuminated the spot where she had stood only a moment ago. She nodded once to no one and departed.

* * *

Arie had already ordered for her when she got to the deli, his lunch already half-eaten. "Sorry. I was starving," he said sheepishly.

"No problem. Sorry I'm late. Oh, before I forget, I brought something for Levi. The Feds freed it from storage this morning." She pulled the book from her bag and passed it to him.

"What were the Feds doing at your house?"

"Looking for something. They trashed the place."

"Did they find it?"

"I don't know yet. I'm boxed in here, Arie."

"What happened?"

"I can't tell you. Plausible deniability."

"You're starting to scare me."

"I'll tell you more when I know more. For now, you'll just have to trust me."

He gave her a dubious smile, paging through the book while she ate. She watched as different expressions played across his face, and knew he was remembering. "Never leave me, and I will never leave you," she said around a mouthful of corned beef. That quote had been their secret code, their own self-fulfilling prophecy, though he knew she meant it for someone else now as well.

"I'm Death, and I make sure that everyone is equal," he quoted in retort. That one had also been like a talisman to them in younger days, and Kasia shivered now at how fitting it was.

"I have some information you might find very interesting," Arie told her when she had finished her sandwich. He stole the bit of pickle she had left behind on her plate as payment. "I was doing some digging into Max Mercer's history. Did you know he's in a wheelchair? His medical record claims he suffered some kind of chemical burns on his legs while busting up a meth lab on the job. He underwent skin grafts at Chicago Med, but they were unsuccessful. Apparently, he waited too long to seek treatment, and the scarring was too far gone. His insurance claims don't match up with the date he sustained the injuries. Not by a long shot."

"So what are you saying, he went to some off the books doctor when he was injured originally?"

"That's what I suspect. One of his syndicate buddies."

"But the Department still paid for the later skin grafts?"

"Yep."

"Chemical burns. I know exactly which chemical. Sulfuric acid. He must have dropped the container, had some sort of accident."

.

"He couldn't go to Med right away, not with Chynelle Kenner's disappearance so recent. Gee, doc, my hand slipped while I was dissolving a body. It happens."

"Arie, this is golden."

"Golden, and inadmissible."

"It's something solid I can use against him during interrogation. He'll never know how I knew."

"He who helped you when you were in trouble ought not afterwards be despised by you," Arie replied, quoting Grimm's again.

"Never. Now I need to find out who he went to when he suffered the burns. He or she could be missing, or worse."

"And so you will, dear sister. Now I want to know why the Feds tore up your house, in case they call me."

She relented and pulled her chair up next to his, whispering the entire story. The man behind the counter watched them with bemusement, so obviously siblings, conspiring animatedly about something, the trust between them unshakable.

After all chatter ceased, Arie sat watching her sadly, and her earlier quote seemed to reverberate off the walls. He knew, somehow, that she was considering leaving Chicago, and she had tried to tell him without saying the words. She reached for his hand, and a far more urgent and silent conversation began.

* * *

Meredith pulled up to the address her contact had given her. 425 East Elgin. There was no sign of Al's car anywhere on this street or the neighboring ones, and the homewrecking whore's car was nowhere to be seen either, unless it was parked in the garage.

The place looked almost abandoned, as if no one lived here at all, but Meredith marched up the walk anyhow. There were no footprints in the fresh layer of snow that had fallen earlier, no lights on anywhere. She pressed her ear to the front door. If anyone was in there, they had seen her coming and were laying low.

She went around to the garage. There was a row of high windows set into the door, and nothing nearby to haul over and stand on so she could peer inside. In desperation, she jumped, and kept on jumping until she flew high enough to glimpse the interior. Empty.

She huffed back to her car, slamming the door harder than necessary. They'd have to show up eventually. She'd simply wait. She tried calling Al again, but got no answer, only a message that his mailbox was full. She tried Lexi in case he had gone there, called the District again and was told he wasn't there either. She played a stupid game on her phone to pass the time, but she was too pissed off to concentrate. She hoped the neighbors saw her waiting, making the bitch who lived here look even worse than she already did after having her house burglarized. For all they knew, Meredith was following up on the case. Just another cop. _Or some slob casing the joint._ She put the car in gear and sped off, grinding her teeth angrily until she heard one of them break. Just one more thing Al would be paying for later.

* * *

Molly's was crowded for a weeknight; Chief Boden from Firehouse 51 was throwing a surprise party for his wife, who had gotten some kind of promotion at work. Trudy was enjoying the festive wait, Sylvie Brett standing lookout near the door so they could all yell 'congratulations' at the same time when Boden's wife came in.

Trudy and Mouch were seated at the bar, Trudy nursing a glass of cabernet, glad to be off her feet at last. Hermann brought them some hot mozzarella sticks to nibble on, he and Mouch discussing the day's calls.

"Can't you leave it at the door for once?" Trudy groaned at them amiably, elbowing Mouch and watching Brett for any sign of Boden's wife. Brett sidestepped quickly when Meredith Olinsky came tearing in, she glanced around once with narrowed eyes and made a beeline straight for Trudy.

"Aw, shit," grunted Trudy. She slid from the barstool to head Meredith off before Donna Boden arrived.

"Where's Al?" barked Meredith, her cheeks ruddy with the cold and burning with anger.

"Not here. Have you tried the District?"

"They claim he's not there either."

"Don't know what to tell you then. He was working on something with Voight when I left."

"I know exactly what he's been working on," bellowed Meredith.

"Yeah, I can see that," Trudy snorted. "Say, that's a lovely ring, Meredith. Bet it's stamped 'Italy' on the inside. Bet it's also engraved. Something in another language, maybe?"

"Al gave it to me a long time ago."

"Like hell he did. And now we know who's responsible for trashing Sergeant Kreczmar's house. Al will want to hear all about it. Should I tell him, or do you want the pleasure?" It was as if someone had pulled a plug in Meredith's neck; her face drained of all color. Meredith would find a way to destroy Al's newfound happiness, but not tonight. Meredith recoiled, deflated.

"Did you do it yourself, or did you hire someone that you paid with Al's money?" Trudy shifted her weight to one hip, slowly extending her hand. "Give me that ring."

"Go fuck yourself," Meredith coughed, tearing the ring from her pinky, drawing blood in the process. She had been wearing it so much she had forgotten it was there. Trudy took it gingerly from Meredith's quaking fingers before Meredith could throw it at her. Every eye in the bar was turned their way.

Trudy held the ring up between two fingers, turning it back and forth until the letters inside the band revealed themselves in the grainy light. 'Sure enough," gloated Trudy. "Ya know what? The best thing you could do for Al, and for yourself, is let him go. Get out of his way. Get out of your own way." She tucked the ring carefully into her uniform pocket, safely beneath the weight of her gun.

Before Meredith could form a response, Sylvie Brett called out to them, and they all shouted 'Surprise!' as Donna Boden came in, smiling hugely, gaping in astonishment. Trudy joined the others in a round of applause for Donna as Meredith made a break for the kitchen and bolted out the back, Hermann watching her go with a mixture of distaste and pity in his eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

Al stretched, feeling Kasia beginning to stir beside him. They had fallen into bed exhausted the night before, saying little, wanting only sleep and each other's warmth. He had barely noticed his surroundings. Kasia was pressed up next to him, her head burrowed beneath his chin, her arm draped lazily around his waist, as if she had never slept anywhere else. He inhaled her scent, her long hair drifting toward his face, getting caught in his mustache. He brushed it away gently, then bundled it all up and ran his hands through it. Kasia sighed in her sleep.

He caressed the soft skin of her back until she woke and turned her face up to his to be kissed, her breath quickening and her movements urgent, intent on his pleasure. He had never known it could be this good, that he could be so wanted, and he was trembling when she was done with him. Even better was the way she held onto him after, as if she feared he would disappear at any moment.

"You're magnificent," she whispered, and she felt him smiling by the movement of his face so close to hers. Theirs eyes were still closed. They drifted until Athena began to whine, and Kasia groaned in frustration.

"Okay, okay. I'm getting up. Hang on, girl." She threw on yesterday's clothes, glancing at the clock on her phone. "Can you believe we slept seven whole hours? I feel ready to kick Chicago's ass."

"I'd rather just stay here."

"Me too. I'll bring some coffee on the way back."

"Thanks. Hey, I forgot to tell you something last night. Atwater ran down another of Mercer's business enterprises, an airport shuttle service. While the van driver takes a fare to the airport, a crew robs their house. I can't believe they haven't been busted before now. We're setting up a C.I. for an airport run this morning. I'm going wit Hank and Burgess to sit on the house. I'll be heading there from here."

"One more nail in Mercer's coffin. This is golden. The charges just keep piling up. Even if I can't nail him for murder, he's still going away."

"This room is amazing, sweetheart. I've heard stories about Indigo Hour, but I thought they were just urban legends. I never believed this place actually existed."

"Wait till you see the rest. If you want, we can have dinner downstairs tonight. You'll need a suit though."

"I'll pick one up. They got a dance floor?"

"Yup."

"Good. It's about time we had a real evening, you know?"

"They're all real with you. Back in a few." Kasia pulled her coat on and hooked up Athena's lead, slipping her phone into her pocket.

While Athena happily explored the courtyard, Kasia went through her missed calls and messages. Julian, Audrey, Julian again. She texted him that she had overslept and would be there soon. Ruth Dwyer had left a voicemail. The preliminary results on the bones were in. Kasia went around to the back door of the kitchen and begged a couple cups of coffee and managed to get them back upstairs without sloshing them everywhere. As she climbed, she thought about what Al had said. 'I'll pick one up.' Their affair had made it impossible for him to go home, to face his wife. Other words he had spoken earlier rose up in her thoughts. 'Any marriage we're in is an affair when we're on the job.'

"The M.E. called with the results. I have to get over there. Do you want breakfast first?" she asked as soon as the door was closed.

"No. I never eat in the morning."

"Me neither."

"Before we leave, I have something for you." He handed her a small, nondescript box. She lifted the lid slowly. Earrings, hammered silver with what looked like cat's eye stones in the center.

"Thank you. I don't have anything for you, though," she said, crestfallen.

"Not that kind of gift. They're bodycams. You'll be fully wired wearing them, so put your hair up. Just a precaution, until you close this case."

She popped them in by feel, thanking him. "Are they already activated?"

"Not yet. Gotta make a call first." He grinned in that guilty way she found so endearing, the sort of smile that had probably caused him a lot of trouble as a kid. They showered quickly and bolted down the tepid coffee, Al scolding her for going out in the cold with wet hair. She gave him her best guilty smile in return.

They took the elevator down to the underground parking garage, each heading for their own car until ran back and stopped her, pinning her against a cement column, tasting her briefly before letting her go.

* * *

Kasia was on the way out of Wicker Park when she called Julian to let him know where she was headed. He and Audrey were prepping their recruit, Gina Denton, to hit up Mercer's security company posing as a client who wanted a couple of thugs to shadow her during a contentious divorce from an abusive husband. Ruzek and Upton had worked late creating false records and documentation for the fictional divorce. Denton was taking a big risk, one that could pay off after graduation from the Academy if Mercer's accomplices didn't make her first.

Kasia's stomach was rolling in anticipation of the DNA results on the bones. She hit the Kennedy Expressway and noticed the same green sedan she had seen behind her only a few blocks from Indigo still with her. An unhappy coincidence, or just someone else late for work? For now, they were stuck in rush-hour traffic several cars behind her, and she breathed steadily, trying to calm her jangling nerves. She couldn't see their facial features, only the driver's sunglasses and the dark shape of his passenger's head. Feds, maybe.

She turned on the scanner, hoping for chatter about Al's op, but there was nothing from that area but a uni requesting backup for a school shooting suspect that had been apprehended before he could act. That would be on the news tonight, a rare the-police-get-it-right story amidst the neverending reports of the current tally of shootings in Chicago for the year.

"Come on," Kasia grumbled, tempted to lean on the horn, gritting her teeth. After two more minutes of inching along, she got out the portable siren and lit it up, and it opened a path to the right so she could exit the quagmire and lose the sedan.

No such luck. She sped through a residential area, the sedan right behind her, the driver's face visible in the rearview now. Neither he nor his friend looked familiar, and the passenger had long hair, pulled back into a ponytail. _Definitely not Feds._ The sedan was fairly new, a decent car but no match for an Alfa Romeo. She could only hope the de-icing trucks had gone before her, and sped up.

She swung a hard left at the next main street, then shot across it to a frontage road beneath the L tracks. The train was hammering along overhead, and it nearly drowned out the sound of a shot ringing out. Kasia's side view mirror shattered, and she swerved to avoid a homeless man, stumbling directly into her path, his reddened eyes rounded with terror. She missed him by only inches, felt the car heave as one of the tires was punctured by another shot. She floored it, the flattened tire flapping like applause, the rim of the wheel screaming in protest, the sedan shrinking from view behind her.

She searched desperately for a place to take a defensive position before they could catch up. When she reached for her gun, the car hit a patch of black ice and spun. The second revolution slammed the car sidelong into one of the steel supports beneath the train tracks, and there was a wrenching yawn of metal folding in on itself that hurt her ears. It was blissfully quiet after that, and dark.

* * *

"Heads up," Burgess hissed. "It's go time."

"Nobody move till they're inside," Voight snarled from the driver's seat. Burgess and Olinsky were safely out of view in the back of the carpet cleaners van Voight had borrowed. Burgess peered out the crack in the open door through her rifle sight.

Hank pretended to study the clipboard propped against the steering wheel. Mercer's crew paid him no mind, getting out of their own van once it pulled up to the curb two houses down. The logo on the side of the van advertised a fictitious fire and water damage restoration service.

"Four," said Voight into his radio. "Get in position." Atwater and Upton were waiting in the alley behind the house in an unmarked car in case the thieves tried to scramble.

"Copy that," Atwater responded.

The thieves casually approached the front door of the target house, just a group of working class slobs hired to do a job, and the obvious leader pretended to knock on the door, waiting politely as the other three moved into position around him while he used a hook pick to unlock the door.

Voight snickered as the door caught on the inside chain. Now they would have to kick it in, just as he hoped. The lieutenant turned around to speak to his underlings, looking unconcerned, and gave a backward kick that firmly connected with the door, and it parted from the chain's grasp. The man spun quickly, acting as if the owner had opened the door for him for the benefit of anyone who might be watching. Any neighbors who saw them hauling stuff out would think only that it was being taken away for cleaning after a fire or some flooding emergency.

One of Kreczmar's crew had discovered earlier that morning a similar scam that reeked of Mercer; a ring of hotel thieves disguised as maids and maintenance men robbing guest's rooms, sometimes while they were still sleeping. Voight was interested in Mercer's net worth. He must have racked up a tidy sum over the years, moving from scam to scam with the protection of CPD insiders turning a blind eye. How many would he find in his own house?

"Let's roll," Voight snapped when two men emerged from the house carrying a big-screen TV. "Stand by," he radioed Atwater and Upton. _When Kreczmar finally brings Mercer in for killing those girls_ , thought Voight, and the press loses their collective mind, _there will be blood running in the storm drains when the full scope of the corruption breaks. They'll see the fucking smoke from Canada_. If the Ivory Tower didn't back Kreczmar's play, the department would tear itself apart from within. It would take months for all the rats to crawl through the cracks. Maybe even years.

Voight and Olinsky rolled up on the men with the TV, Burgess taking point, her rifle trained on the jefe's head. The men were just boys upon closer inspection, probably college students Mercer had reeled in with promises of easy tuition money.

"Chicago P.D. Put it down and let's see those hands," bellowed Voight. The one behind the boss tried to bolt, the TV slipping from his hands. Al feinted left and threw off the kid's flight, clocking him with a roundhouse to the side of the head.

"Stay down," sneered Al, cuffing the man, who howled in pain. "Burgess, inside."

"Nice shot," said Voight, his target already in cuffs, staring at the ground. Al shook his hand, massaging his throbbing knuckles, wiggling his fingers. _I'm getting too old for this shit_. For half a second he allowed himself to daydream of a beach somewhere, Kasia beside him.

"Watch them," Voight barked hoarsely, streaking into the house, calling out for Burgess.

"I got one," she answered. "The other dipped out the back."

Voight grabbed his radio. "Atwater?"

"We got him. You good?"

"Yeah. Let's pack it up and go home," Voight grabbed an arm and helped Burgess haul the perp out to the street. The kid's arm was mostly bone, covered by thin sinew. _Scrawny little jagoff._

They loaded the thieves into the van they had arrived in, taking it as evidence, Burgess driving, Al riding shotgun, the muzzle of his service revolver pointed at the four losers huddled in the back. He mirandized them all at once, a hint of amusement in his tone.

* * *

"Detective Olinsky?"

"Yeah. Julian. What is it?"

"Have you talked to Kasia?"

"Not for a couple of hours. She was heading to the M.E.'s office."

"I know. They just called me to ask where she was. She never made it there."

Al searched his pockets for his phone.

"On your desk," Burgess called out to him.

He checked the incoming call log. Nothing. He called her number and got an out-of-service message and began to grow cold, numb fear climbing up from his toes to settle around his heart. Voight stalked from his office, sensing trouble. Al stuttered an explanation, clearly shaken.

"Upton. Atwater, Start checking hospitals and see if Kreczmar is listed at any of them. Antonio, Ruzek, traffic cams. Where was she last seen or heard from?"

"She was heading to the M.E.'s from Wicker Park a couple of hours ago," said Al.

"That means she either took North Milwaukee or Kennedy."

"I gave her some bodycams this morning," Al told Voight.

"Are they active?"

"Not yet."

"I got it," said Ruzek. "I gave them to Al to give to her."

Al rubbed his eyes, digging his thumbs in until he saw bursts of white light.

"Run down the GPS on her phone, too." said Voight. He clasped Al's forearm. "We'll find her," he said sternly, his voice pitched low, for Al only.

Kasia's partner stood wringing his hands, glancing nervously around the Intelligence bullpen. Burgess caught his eye and gave him a reassuring look while she waited on hold, phone pressed to her ear, head tilted slightly.

"Patrol found her car in Bucktown," said Atwater, his eyes hooded. "Totalled. Dead dog in the front seat. Her bag and phone were at the scene, but not her. Blood in the car, but no trail."

"Either she wandered off hurt, or someone's got her," said Al bleakly.

"Mercer. Gotta be. The Feds would have called an ambulance," added Voight.

"I got a feed from the bodycams, Al. I can't tell if they're still on her."

There was video from only one of the cameras. Either the other was malfunctioning or Kasia was on her side somewhere, her ear facing the ceiling. Al could see the cracked plaster above what he fervently hoped was her, wan sunlight slanting in from a grime covered, high window that was barred from the outside. A large ceiling fan circled lazily overhead. There was an industrial, unused feel to the image, though Al couldn't say why. Some kind of basement, but not a residence. Someplace old, forgotten, with windows that faced south. The bodycam could be sitting on a table, or dropped on the floor. There was no visible sign Kasia.

"Can you increase the audio, Ruzek?"

"Yeah, I'll try. Hang on."

The fan squeaked with every revolution, like some kind of erratic timer going off. "Say something, baby, tell me you're alive," Al breathed inaudibly, sending up the most urgent supplication of his life to whatever deity was listening to save her, to spare her, to bring her back to him before the burning weight of anguish crushed him.

"I can't stand around here doing nothing. I need to go get the dog. Bury it. For her," Al said absently.

"I'll drive," said Voight.

* * *

Someone was moaning, softly and incessantly. Kasia was about to tell them to shut up when her throat constricted and the sounds ceased and she realized had made them. She inhaled through her nose and it was like breathing in fire. She groaned, twisting in a rictus of pain.

 _Broken ribs. I was in the car, under the tracks, the L rocketing overhead, and then I was here. Where is here_? The air was gritty, caustic, and it fed the fire in her chest. C _oughing would be a really, really bad idea right now_. She drew from her training, slowing her respirations, and the pain eased imperceptibly.

She couldn't sit up. Her hands were locked together, but she couldn't move her head enough to see how. She lay on her side, the sour taste of vomit in her mouth. She must have puked all over whoever had carried her in here, and they wanted to avoid having to clean it up again, so she was trapped on her side. They needn't have bothered. There was nothing left in her stomach anyway.

She tried without hope to whistle for Athena, but her lips were too parched to form the sound, and the exhalation brought searing pain. She squeezed her eyes shut until it ebbed. When she opened them again, there was two of everything; two windows, two identical cracks running side by side up the wall.

 _Broken ribs. Head injury. Was I shot_? She tried to take stock of her injuries, but everything hurt, and she could see only her arms bound together, stretched out in front of her, the first three digits of the number tattooed on her left forearm hidden beneath the other. 1-2-7. Insult upon injury to those who had been forced to bear those numbers. Tattoos were forbidden by Jewish law. 127506. She whispered it drily, and the sound reminded her of Voight. She chewed on her tongue as she had used to do on patrol in the desert until she drew enough saliva to whisper it again. 127506. It lulled her off to some twilit lair, the dull throbbing in her head an almost pleasant counterpoint.

* * *

"What've you got?" Voight asked the techs, who had just finished at the scene of the wreck. The older of the two stepped over to piece it all together for them. The left side of his face was seamed with a deep scar that ran from below his eye down to his adam's apple. He noticed Voight tracing the path of the scar with dark eyes. Al hadn't taken his eyes off the car, wrapped around the track supports.

"I used to be on the job," the tech explained. "Got slashed by a tweaker. This job's a lot easier on the body. I'm Sean, by the way. We followed the tracks of the Alfa Romeo; it cut across Marlowe at a high rate of speed about four miles north of here. Judging by the skid marks, the driver, a Sergeant…"

"Kreczmar," Al filled in, irritated.

"Yeah. She was hauling ass. Driver's side mirror was shot out by a .22 caliber rifle. So was the rear passenger side tire. We recovered the shells, we'll run them right away. She hit a patch of black ice, spun twice, wrapped the car around the trestle, as you can see."

"What's in the bags?"

"Woman's purse. A laptop. Personal effects from the car."

"And the dog?"

"Wrapped in a blanket in the trunk of my car. It was strapped into some kind of harness in the front seat. A registered K9 officer, retired. I wanted to make sure she got all the bells and whistles."

"Can I see her?" asked Al.

"Yeah." Sean lead Al over to his rig and popped the trunk. Athena's dark muzzle poked out from beneath a red plaid blanket. She had lost an eye from the force of the impact, the empty socket staring at nothing. Al stretched out a hand and stroked her velvety snout one last time.

"Rest in peace, office," he uttered poignantly, the sound of an incoming train eclipsing his words. He wandered back to Kasia's car, taking note of the pattern of blood droplets on the dash as dispassionately as his heaving emotions would allow. She had been warm in his arms only hours ago, and she could easily be on her way right now to the M.E.'s office for the second time that day, arriving through the back entrance in a body bag. Where the hell was she?

"She could be wandering around here somewhere, hurt, confused…"

"We have officers fanned out. If she's still in the area, we'll find her," Sean assured Al.

"Al. Let's roll. Ruzek's picking up something on her bodycam."


	12. Chapter 12

"Welcome, Sergeant Kreczmar."

His face was level with hers. A face with large, blue-green eyes framed by tawny lashes, and long gray-streaked hair that had once been the same tawny shade. His hair was pulled back, tied at his neck. _The passenger from the sedan_. He had been good-looking once, but now had the grizzled, gaunt edges of someone who had partied hard for joyless decades; he was like something left forgotten in the sun that had faded beyond recognition.

"Mercer," Kasia croaked roughly.

"The one and only." He paused, maneuvering his wheelchair until it was so close his breath stirred her hair, dried her already burning eyes.

"Where's my dog?" she wheezed.

"Chasing bunnies on the rainbow bridge. You killed her, not me. Shame about the car. It was a real beauty." Mercer grabbed a length of her hair, sniffed at it. "You certainly have made my life interesting lately," he drawled. "It's been fun, but it's time for the endgame."

"Losing your son was fun?"

"Dead because of you. No worries, though. I always collect on outstanding debts. You, your brother, the old man who's banging you. They'll all pay for your transgressions. What are you doing with that cunt Olinsky, anyway? Looking for daddy?"

"I love him."

Mercer rumbled with laughter. "He's a fucking caveman. Caused me a lot of problems when I was still with Vice. Always busting my balls, jamming me up over something. Bet he's wondering where you've run to right about now, and with who. Him and his good buddy Voight, dirtiest fucking cop in Chicago and still on the job. Woods is going to destroy them both. By the time he's done with Voight, Olinsky will be roadkill. Voight would step over his dead father to fuck his mother. Olinsky has no idea what's coming."

"I won't tell him," sneered Kasia.

"Oh, I know," Mercer chuckled darkly. "Woods doesn't know I have you yet. He'd pay whatever I asked to get his hands on the bitch who took a shot at him and nearly hit his baby girl. He'll just have to wait in line. I have a score to settle with you first. We're gonna have some fun. You've seen what happens to those who enter my world uninvited."

"I've seen the bones. Your victims left their mark on you. Put you in that chair."

"Says the bitch who thought she was gonna put the needle in my arm for it. You're the one who gets the needle. Maybe I'll turn you loose in Glass Alley later just to watch you come crawling back to me for more."

"Why'd you kill the girls, Mercer?"

"Why not? Their useless kin came into my home. Terrorized my family. Shot my daughter. An eye for an eye. I think that proverb comes from your end of the street, sweetheart."

"You tormented your own son. Forced him to drown animals, to rape Penelope Higgins. You strung him up in the garage, you belittled him daily, you hated him because he was gay, and now you claim you killed in his defense?"

"I hated him because he survived, and Amelia didn't." He struck her in the breastbone, knowing the pain would cripple her. Her hair wrapped around his hand, he pulled her heard back so she was unable to draw breath to scream, or to sob. "The only time a whore should open her mouth is when she's giving head," he snarled. Kasia noticed the flecks of gold in his eyes, recoiling. The pain was thunderous, but she could not draw enough air to make a sound, her lips pulled back over her teeth in agony.

"Hang on, sweetheart. Relief is coming."

From some other plane, Kasia heard and felt someone else enter the room, felt the cold weight of metal pressed against her temple. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the blast that never came, and someone twisted her arms until she was stung by something and everything else faded instantly to nothing. An immediate absence of pain that was so profound she gasped spread through her. In its wake was left behind only a sense of invincible well-being, as if she floated in the womb of some great beast that was sworn to protect her, to nurture her. Her nose itched vaguely, and laughter like music rang in her ears.

* * *

They crowded around Ruzek's desk, listening to the recording the bodycam had captured so far. It was silent now.

"Did he just confess?" said Dawson.

"Danced around it," Voight replied, eyes still riveted on the unchanging image from the bodycam's video feed. The room where Kreczmar was being held had darkened slightly. "Ruzek, send the recording to Kreczmar's brother. Let's see if it'll hold up."

"What did they shoot her up with?" Julian said, mostly to himself.

"Skag, most likely. Where's the other member of your squad? Ames?" grunted Voight.

"She went to the M.E.'s office in the Sarge's place. We've been stalled, waiting for those test results."

"I know. We'll find your Sergeant." Voight straightened, shoulders back. "Listen up. We mobilize, hit every known location owned by Mercer. Pull people from patrol, from other districts if you have to. I need eyes on Anderson, too. She may lead us right to him."

"Already on it," Al answered austerely. He and Voight exchanged a look.

"Not so fast," said the District Commander from where he had stood observing them. "Lieutenant Woods wants the Feds handling this."

"They had their chance," Voight replied acidly. "Tell Woods I'll be happy to contact the media and let them know how a CPD Lieutenant left a CPD Sergeant to the wolves to cover his buddy Mercer's ass."

"Woods explicitly ordered Kreczmar off the case, Voight."

"And we all know why. Everyone else will, too, unless you stay out of our way. Saddle up, everyone." The two regarded each other icily, neither backing down until Platt interrupted, looking flustered.

"Alvin, your wife is downstairs," she said, her eyes softening with pity. Al pushed past them all, taking the stairs two at a time.

* * *

"This had better be an emergency, Meredith. We've got a cop missing."

"Depends on what you consider important."

"Is it Lexi? Is she okay?"

"She's fine. You'd know that if you were around. She'll be less than fine when I tell her what you've been up to. Her earnest father. Does your other kid know? Speaking of, how long till you have yet another?"

Al stalked away, silently daring her to follow him outside, hoping she would. She took the bait. She had obviously been waiting for this moment, planning every word. He cut her off before she could speak.

"I was gonna tell Lexi myself, but go ahead, it'll save me the trouble."

"If you ever want to get out of that garage, you'll end it right now, today."

"I'm already out of the garage, Meredith. That's why you're here, isn't it? You can't stand that I'm not twisting in the wind anymore."

"That's not true."

"What is, then? You gonna tell me you miss me now? That you want to make it work? Is that what you came to say? Spit it out." He watched as she crumbled within, the fire in her eyes diminished. If she couldn't bring herself to say it, what were they doing out here?

"You think you're so smart," she snapped.

"Smart enough not to squander something real? Yeah. I am. I'm smart enough not to throw away someone who actually gives a damn. Do I have a reason to?"

"Do you want a divorce, Al?"

"Do you?"

She picked at a fingernail, which was her tell and always had been. A car pulled into the lot, music blasting, the abrupt silence when the driver killed the engine drawing his gaze away. "Music's better than real life sometimes," he said airily.

"What? Why?"

"Because you always know when the song is over."

He turned away and left her standing there and never saw the tears in her eyes. She opened her mouth to fire off a bitter retort, but there was nothing to say, and he wouldn't have heard her anyway.

* * *

In all the years he had known Olinsky, Voight had never seen him like this, unreachable, so silent. Afraid. "You shouldn't have come with, Al. You're too close to this."

Voight's radio crackled to life, rescuing Al from a response. It was Platt.

"I got the traffic cam footage. The sedan that pursued Kreczmar is registered to Max Mercer. Enhanced images show him as the passenger. Still working on the driver's identity."

"Thanks, Trudy. Anything new on the bodycam?"

"No. I'll keep you posted."

"That fucking puke," growled Al. "Lockup will be overflowing by tonight. We won't have room for them all."

"And they're gonna give up any cops that are part of Mercer's inner circle."

"Some of them will, just to save their own asses. Most will be too afraid of Mercer to give anyone up."

"What is it you really want to say, Al?"

"He's gonna kill her to get even if we raid all his businesses. He's smart. Cop smart. He'll have her stashed somewhere completely unconnected. She'll end up fertilizer in some other state, just another Cold Case that won't get solved by some cop that doesn't have half the balls she does and never will."

"So we should just sit on our hands?"

No! Hell, no. I just...I…"

"I know. Believe me. We'll find her, Al."

Al nodded, staring out the car window, his expression inscrutable. Voight sighed heavily and left him alone, both hands on the wheel now, eyes straight ahead. Their first target was only a few blocks away.

* * *

By nine o'clock that night they were still sorting out the shot-callers from the henchmen and the underlings from the clueless who thought they were employed by legit businesses. The overflow had been sent to other districts for questioning and processing in several other counties, their own unprepared for the deluge, and the reporters were already circling, smelling blood in the water.

Voight was pleased with the day's haul; there had been no casualties, only wounded, and none life threatening. He fervently hoped Kreczmar wouldn't be the first, for Al's sake. They gathered again in the bullpen to decompress, adrenaline ebbing, the inevitable comedown left in its wake. They were all spent, and began drifting steadily out for the night until only Voight, Olinsky, Ruzek and Platt remained, keeping vigil around Ruzek's monitor.

The place where Kreczmar was entombed was dark and quiet, the only sound from the ceiling fan, until the screen lit up and Max Mercer's smirking face came into view.

* * *

"Your boyfriend has been busy today," spat Mercer. "He closed down my airport shuttle service, my security company, a bicycle courier joint that I run my dope through, my hotel ring, my shipping container gig. That one really hurt. It's how I ship custom cars and other valuable merchandise to overseas collectors. It's also how I get rid of inconveniences like yourself. I've come a long way from sulfuric acid, you see."

"You know, Mercer," slurred Kasia, "sometimes sulfuric acid produces the unintended consequences of preserving what someone hoped to destroy."

"It's been decades. There's nothing left of those girls."

"You didn't do your homework, Mercer. Bones aren't that easily disposed of."

"You some kind of forensics expert, sweetheart?"

"No. My grandparents were burned to ash after they were gassed, remember?" Kasia was sickened by the sudden, malevolent interest in his eyes, and her pulse beat in her temples as she wondered if the bodycam was capturing his admissions of guilt. She could almost hear him copping an Alford plea already. _Arie would crucify him on cross. Please, please let it be so_.

"Gassed, huh? Where at again?"

"Auschwitz."

"That had to hurt."

"It did." She intended to say no more, to give him nothing more, but the words spilled from her unrestrained. "The day they gassed my grandparents, a valve malfunctioned on the gas chamber. They had to wait over an hour while the Nazis repaired the valve. Imagine what that hour was like for them, all of them; naked parents trying to explain to their naked, terrified children that they were not there for a shower." She paused to breathe, ribs screaming in pain. " _To believe in justice, one must be willing to come out from the shadows and testify to the evil people do._ That was on a sign in my father's study. Can you guess who said it?"

Mercer shrugged heedlessly, his eyes betraying keen interest. "Thomas Paine?"

"My brother, when he was only ten. Arguing against the death penalty in a debate with my father. Arie said it made us less than animals. The most just person I know. The fairest, humblest human being I've met. Of the two of us, he got the better egg. My dad was continually astounded by him when we were kids."

Mercer's eyes were vacant again. "I'm doing the city a favor by killing you. If you brought me in and the brothers found out what I did, 200,000 gang bangers would spread through this city like a wave and burn it to the fucking ground. The cops would be capping anything that moves. It'd be an all-out war, and you know it. You really want that on your head?"

"Maybe it's time for a war," she uttered, and sprang, flinging her entire weight onto him, pinning him into the wheelchair. Her arms were bound at the wrists by duct tape, and she looped them over his head so it was locked between them and sank her teeth into his neck while driving her knee into his groin until he stopped struggling and began to face, consciousness slipping away. When she judged him weak enough, she tore her teeth from his throat, reared back and drove her skull into his forehead with all the force she could muster.

* * *

The Intelligence bullpen erupted, Trudy shrieking for Kasia to get the hell out of there fast. They watched her sawing the duct tape from her wrists on the rough edges of an old, battered wooden table, panting and muttering to herself, encouragement in a language none of them could identify.

"She's still on the nod," Ruzek surmised.

"Which makes her even more dangerous," gloated Al.

They watched her take Mercer's gun; she tried to tape his mouth with tape that had bound her wrists, but it wouldn't stick, his face too slick with blood. She tore a length from her filthy shirt and stuffed it into his mouth, and stood for a long moment with the gun to his head, her indecision almost palpable. The images from the bodycam became erratic then as she moved frantically, looking around the room for cameras, for anything or anyone that might impede her escape. She darted drunkenly around collecting tools as weapons, and made for the outside exit, clearly gathering her courage.

"Soldier," whispered Voight.

"That place will be heavily guarded, wherever it is," said Al in dismay.

"I know where it is," said Audrey Ames from the doorway. "It's just outside Skokie. It's where Mercer cuts drugs. An old farmhouse. He uses it for other things, too. Like punishments."

Al drew on her unerringly, gesturing to Trudy for her handcuffs without taking his eyes off Ames. "Manos arriba." He took her service weapon and passed it to Trudy. "Turn around and put your hands behind your back." He cuffed her and dragged her over to an empty chair, forcing her onto it.

"You're gonna give us that address right now."

Audrey's eyes were swimming with tears. She rattled off the address and told them how to find the place. "I'm sorry," she wailed. "I started working for him to make my daughter's tuition. I got sucked in and couldn't get out."

"How long?"

"Two years."

"The rifle. The Feds. You dropped the dime on her."

"I had to. He threatened my daughter. She's only eight."

"So was Chynelle Kenner. Let's go, Hank."

"I'm coming with," Ruzek interjected.

"I'll deal with this one," offered Trudy, nodding towards Ames.

Someone was hammering on the cage, their shouts resounding from the staircase, calling for Al. "You're not going without me. She's my sister."


	13. Chapter 13

Kasia shut off all the lights in the room to avoid silhouetting herself in the doorway. She pressed her ear to the door. If there was anyone on the other side, she could not hear them. She closed her eyes for a second against the nauseating double vision, but could spare no time; there was no knowing how soon someone would come looking for Mercer.

She unlocked the door and pulled it slowly open, the barrel of Mercer's Glock 23 leading the way. She was weighed down by the tools she had jammed into the waistband of her jeans but comforted by the ballast of their presence. She closed the door and stood stock still, listening. No white noise industrial hum of the city. The air was crisp here, wherever here was, fresher, and it cleared her head a little, though the hammering pain continued unabated.

Mercer would have plenty to protect out here; there could be guards, tripwires. Yard dogs. She wished for some pepper spray and and an automatic weapon. She could still do a lot of damage with the crescent wrench and claw hammer and the box cutter she had tucked into her bra. What she most needed was a car, but any vehicles here would be locked up tight by their owners, the keys pocketed and the alarms activated.

Her only real hope was to make for the nearest road and flag down a motorist and pray they would stop for someone who probably looked like she had gone ten rounds with Holyfield and lost. She flattened herself against the outside wall, scanning her surroundings. There was a line of brush still naked from the winter that formed a sort of natural fence about twenty yards to the east. That would be her first goal. She staggered forward as quickly and carefully as her broken head would allow, watching for tripwires. Maybe Mercer felt safely invulnerable out here, and security was less than she imagined, or maybe she was a hopeful fool.

By some miracle she made it to the bushes and scrambled behind them, The ground had softened sufficiently for her to scrape together some mud, enough to camouflage her face and hands. There was a stand of pine not far from her position. If she could climb one, she could get the lay of the land and possibly spot the nearest road, and she would gain an excellent vantage point for targeting. The dizzying thought of ascending the branches made her stomach heave, and she retched piteously, bringing up nothing but bile and blood. She wiped at her mouth with her sleeve, grimacing, watching the house.

The lights came on in the room she had been held in. "Fuck," she stammered, bolting for the treeline. It was now or never.

* * *

Ruzek had linked a laptop to the bodycam feed and sent it with Al, and he saw Kasia's every move from her perspective, as if he saw through her eyes, Arie leaning over the backseat, his head next to Al's. "What is she doing, Al? What's that we're seeing?"

"Branches, I think. She's climbing a tree."

Arie glanced at the GPS on the dash for what seemed like the millionth time in the last two minutes. "Why does it seem like we're no closer?"

"Because she's your sister. Look," said Al. The vista below Kasia's position came into view. Three men had entered the yard around the farmhouse and were fanning out, one barking orders inaudibly. All three were armed with rifles.

"She's outnumbered," Arie moaned softly.

"Local Sheriff and PD are already on the way," said Voight. "She'll have to hold them off until then, unless we get there first."

"Look," said Arie. "There's a helicopter coming in. Can you see it?"

Al peered shrewdly at the screen. "That's a drone. Floor it, Hank."

* * *

Kasia heard the drone before she saw it, her view obscured by branches and the fog of her breath on the air. She pulled her shirt up to cover her mouth and was wracked with muscle spasms in places on her body she hadn't know existed, and though dehydrated and in spite of the cold, she was sweating. _Withdrawal from the smack. Just another assailant. Keep it together, there are only three of them, so far_.

She was wearing dark clothing, as she nearly always did, her hair was dark, and her face and hands coated with mud. If she held still enough, the drone might miss her completely, as long as it was not the heat-seeking kind.

She could hear the men below her now, arguing about whether she could have possibly made it to the road yet, or the neighboring property. If they were that concerned, maybe the road wasn't far. One of them lazily announced that the drone would find her in a nasal accent. Brooklyn, probably. Mercer likely recruited talent where he could find it, and his syndicate may have a longer reach than any of them had anticipated. What a bust this would be, if she survived.

The drone passed directly above her position. She leaned against the trunk of the tree to steady herself and still any movement. If the drone was heat-seeking, she'd soon know. It passed harmlessly overhead, the whine of its tiny rotors fading, and continued on in the opposite direction from the house.

The sound had barely died away when she heard another. Sirens. Still distant, too far to tell if they were heading toward this place, or away. Had someone called an ambulance for Mercer? Another long moment told her it was safe to assume the sirens were getting closer, but that didn't mean they were headed here. For a split second she allowed herself to imagine Al behind the wheel, tearing down the road like some avenging angel, a CPD posse following him. The thought warmed her enough to move. It was time to act, to get out of the tree, but first she would use her position to lessen the threat if she could, by separating one of the men below from the others and taking him out.

There was a sizable pine cone nestled on the branch directly below. Kasia began slowly disentangling her limbs from the branch she sat on, moving methodically down until she was seated on the branch below, the pine cone in her hand. It was the fat, pretty sort Christian kids would decorate in school like a tiny Christmas tree. Kasia had secretly wanted one of her own to take home on that last day of school before Christmas break, when she and Arie had been part of the small group who always left empty-handed that day.

She could see one of the men stalking back toward the house, his rifle propped against his shoulder. She could easily shoot him in the back, but couldn't risk the sound drawing the others. The other two had split up and the drone was out of earshot. The sirens drew closer.

Luck was with her. One of the men was patrolling the other end of the stand of pine. Kasia drew a deep breath and swung, hurling the pine cone, and it soared over the neighboring tree and hit the next with an echoing, brittle crack. It sounded like a bone breaking. "Merry Christmas, motherfucker," she whispered, and swung down from the tree, sprinting behind the next, crouching motionless until the man was in her line of sight, tensed to spring once his back was turned, gripping the claw hammer fiercely.

The man was scanning through his rifle sight, seeking the source of the sound he had heard, his peripheral vision momentarily useless. Kasia struck before he could change position and swung, burying the claw end of the hammer in the back of his neck. He flailed, reaching helplessly, grasping behind his head before he crumpled. She swung again, hitting him in the head this time, gore splattering the stiff legs of her pants. He was still. She felt his neck for a pulse and found none. She wiped his blood from her fingers onto the sleeve of his coat and pulled the rifle from his dead grasp.

Even with blurred vision, the man coming out the door of the house was easily sighted, Kasia adjusted the scope to compensate and fired, dropping him.

Then there was one.

* * *

Dry, her mouth was dry. She could taste the rusty tang of blood. Kasia scooped up a handful of snow; it was gritty with dirt but satisfied her thirst momentarily.

The most defensible space was here among the pines, though she longed to draw her stalker out into the open and finish this, to make for the road and find help, but showing herself now would be suicide. The land slanted downward roughly fifty yards behind her position. The enemy could be barricaded there right now, waiting to pick her off unseen. He could be behind any of the trees, coming closer.

The drone was nearby, searching the trees again. By now they were aware she hadn't made it out yet. She flattened herself against a tree trunk, only her eyes moving, watching as it passed overhead. The sound of sirens had stopped, the quiet ominous, like a living entity waiting to betray her position. She had to keep moving.

There were lights dancing through the trees then. "Freeze," someone bellowed. Friend, or foe? Kasia moved as fast as her battered body could carry her, heedless of the sound of her ragged breathing. A shot was fired from a rifle, answered by two shots from a small caliber handgun. She crabwalked closer to the sound, staying low to the ground and under cover behind the trunks of trees, rifle at the ready.

She came upon them suddenly, a group of uniformed officers surrounding a prone figure on the ground. Words her father had spoken to her once rose up in her unbidden: t _he warrior holds in high esteem the weavers and the cooks, without them he would be naked and hungry._ She understood those words far better now. Al stepped into the light, and Kasia cried out his name. Their reunion was joyous, but impersonal and short-lived.

"Mercer," she wheezed.

"Hank's got him. He's headed for the cage."

"He'll need medical attention first." She sank into him with relief. Mercer was alive to stand trial.

"You need medical attention yourself. Let's get you out of here." All eyes were on them, and they struggled to keep their demeanor professional when everything in them screamed for them to clutch at one another. Time enough for that later.

"I need to contact my C.I. before the press gets wind of Mercer's arrest," Kasia said urgently to Al. "Except I don't know where my bag is, or my phone, or my dog."

"Your bag and phone are back at the district. There's an ambulance waiting for you."

"Hope they have some Narcan. And a beer."

* * *

Al hated hospitals. The antiseptic smell, the orderlies trudging past like they were on the way to their own executions. The impotent fear in the eyes of the people waiting around for news. A perky brunette came into the waiting room just as Al was about to go prowling for some answers.

"Detective Olinsky? I'm Dr. Manning. Are you Sergeant Kreczmar's husband?"

"I wish. This is her brother, Arie." Al gestured to Arie, who had just nodded off, his chin resting on his chest, the yarmulke pinned to his dark curls about to fall off.

"She's going to be fine. She has a concussion, and several broken ribs, and a host of contusions and abrasions. She'll need some time to heal, so no strenuous activity for a while. The Narcan the paramedics gave her reversed the effects of the heroin she was given. We're going to run more tests to be sure there's no bleeding in her brain. She was battered pretty badly, so her emotional well-being may be a concern."

"We'll be there for her."

"You can see her now." Dr. Manning shook Al's hand briskly and sped off down the hall to her next patient.

"Arie." Al nudged Arie's shoulder gently. Arie snorted, staring vacantly before recognition dawned in his eyes.

"Kasia?" he exclaimed drunkenly.

"We can see her now. Why don't you go in first? Have some time alone with her?"

Arie glanced at his watch. "I have to be in court in...two hours. Thanks, Al, for everything. I owe you one."

"I love her."

"I know. I'll tell her."

Mercer, the prick who had put Kasia here and might have put her in the morgue, was in the building somewhere having his wounds tended. Al strode purposefully off, taking the elevator down to the gift shop. He bought some flame-colored roses for Kasia, then called Voight for Mercer's location.

* * *

"Hey."

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a train. At least I don't feel like a disembodied head anymore. Thank you, for the flowers. They're beautiful. Why is your hand bleeding?"

"I just belted Mercer. It felt good."

"You're the best, Alvin Olinsky. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Not today."

"How'd you get into his room?"

"Charm."

Kasia smiled girlishly. "Well, you have an endless supply of that."

"As long as it keeps you around." He lowered the bedrail, sat on the bed beside her, and took her hand in his uninjured one. "There's a uni posted outside your door. Mercer has enough juice to order a hit, even from in here."

She stroked his fingers, eyes shining. "Athena's gone, isn't she."

"Yeah, Cookie. She died in the car, from the impact. I'm sorry."

"How'd you know where to find me, Al?"

Al wrestled with his own emotions, struggling to answer. "Ames. She was one of Mercer's. Gave up the address. She's in lockup. She betrayed you. She betrayed us all."

"She told the Feds," Ksia surmised. "About the rifle. All this time, working this case, and I never had an inkling. I thought it was Julian. I hope he never finds out I doubted him."

"He won't by me."

Kasia inhaled sharply, wincing, determined not to cry, but her tears had a mind of their own, and she was powerless to stop them. She and Audrey had started out together, come up through the ranks together. It had been Audrey who encouraged Kasia to take the Sergeant's exam. Kasia had been there for the birth of Audrey's daughter, Emlyn.

"You should go home, get some sleep. You look so tired," she said once her flayed emotions were quieter and speech returned.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Then I'm calling for a nurse to bandage your hand, and something for you to eat. We missed our dinner at Indigo. I'm sorry."

"We'll make up for it when you're out of here." His words sounded false in his ears, Meredith's threat of telling Lexi about them hanging over him like a guillotine.

"What is it?" Kasia asked him warily, sensing some nameless shift that felt like a sudden chill.

"Nothing you need to worry about, sweetheart. There's room enough for both of us in that bed if I lie on my side." He pulled the privacy curtain around them, smirking.

"I'll lie on my side, too."

"Not with broken ribs. Just give me a minute to make this happen." Somehow he maneuvered himself in next to her. She tried to shift herself to give him more room.

'Don't squirm around too much, or you'll activate the launch sequence. That'll get me kicked out of here."

Kasia laughed as hard as her broken ribs would allow, groaning in pain at the same time.

"That's better," Al sighed happily, stifling a yawn. They drifted off in under a minute.

A short time later a nurse came by to see if Kasia wanted any painkillers, and froze outside the privacy curtain, horrified that any woman could snore that loudly. She swapped a look with the door guard, who just shrugged. She peeked around the curtain, and smiled. Her patient was burrowed up contentedly with the man who had come in earlier, clearly all the medicine she needed right now. The nurse turned the room lights off and padded away.

* * *

The scene was very different in Max Mercer's room two floors down. FBI agents were waiting to pounce, to hijack 21's collar; Voight and Ruzek fighting feverishly to hold the Feds and the media at bay until Voight relented and gave a brief press conference, leaving out the names of the girls Mercer had killed. It wouldn't hold them for long. Whatever card Kreczmar had left to play, it would have to be soon.

* * *

"I have to get out of here," Kasia deadpanned. "Please. I have work to do and this case could slip away from me. There's a lot at stake, for the entire city. More than I can say."

Dr. Manning was adamant. "Just let us do the MRI and CT scan, and I'll have your release papers ready. I promise it won't take long."

"Okay," Kasia capitulated. "I'm sorry for being short with you. I know you're just doing your job."

"It's alright. You're just doing yours. I'll go and set up the tests right now. Just sit tight for a little while longer."

Kasia nodded grimly, pushing away the bedside table, the half-eaten breakfast she had shared with Al now cold. She dug through her bag for her phone, scrolling through her list of contacts until she found Lemarcus. He answered on the second ring.

"Sup?"

"Hey, Lemarcus. It's Sergeant Kreczmar. Listen, we got the bastard who killed Chynelle Kenner."

"And now you callin' 'bout our deal?"

"Yeah. What did the Lords and Souls agree to?"

Lemarcus snickered. "Y'all gonna love this. Deal is, won't be no riots on one condition: they want a three-day truce. Ceasefire on both sides. No arrests, no nothing. And they want this punkass bitch Mercer to get the needle. No special treatment, no protective custody, or it's on."

"That's two conditions," she replied, laughter in her voice.

"I'm a closer, Miz PoPo."

"That you are. Okay, I'll spread the word."

"Soon as it's done, imma let 'em know. Call me back then."

"I owe you one."

"Damn right, You can help me, too. I wanna go to College. Ain't no scholarships or grants left for next year."

"What do you want to study?"

"I like to build things. Like robots and A.I. and stuff."

"So, engineering?"

"Yeah."

"I know some people who could definitely help make that happen, Lemarcus."

"Good."

"I'll get back to you soon."

Kasia called Voight next. "Hank, it's Kasia. Can you stop by my room when you get a chance? I have a proposition from the G-Park Lords and the Black Souls I need to discuss with you."

* * *

Everyone in Intelligence was buried in paperwork from all the raids on Mercer the day before. IAB was on the prowl, waiting to grill them all, and Mercer's lawyers were circling, threatening retribution.

Al had barely made a dent in the pile on his desk when Platt called to tell him Lexi was waiting downstairs. He groaned inwardly, resisting the urge to sweep all the folders from his desk into the trash can and went downstairs to meet her, ignoring the glances from the others he could feel burning holes in his back as he left.

"Lexi. Hey. We're really swamped today. Huge bust yesterday."

"I know. I saw it on the news. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired."

"Dad, can you buy me lunch? I need to talk to you."

"And so it begins. The starving College student." His attempt at brevity quickly fell on deaf ears, Lexi watching him stonily, her expression unchanged.

He tried again. "We'll have to make it quick."

"Okay."

They walked to a hamburger joint around the corner. The place was half-empty, and they found a booth, the table littered with paper straw wrappers and bits of french fries, a sticky brown circle from a milkshake and a gnawed ketchup packet. Kids, probably.

"What's going on, Lex?"

"Dad, do you have a girlfriend?" blurted Lexi, her face coloring.

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Mom."

Al steepled his fingers on the table, studying them. "Yeah. I do."

"Oh my God, Dad! How could you let this happen?"

"Believe it or not, Lex, I'm not dead yet."

"Mom says it's that Cold Case cop, the one we saw on the news, the one who was going after that crooked retired cop."

"Yeah. That's her."

"How?" she asked again.

"We fell in love. What do you want me to say, Lexi? How did it happen with you and what's-his-name? It happens like it happens."

"It's not the same thing-"

"Oh, it isn't? Really?"

"What about Mom?"

"What about her?"

"You're just going to leave her for this woman?"

"She left me first. You really want me living in the garage again? Knocking on my own front door asking if I can come in like some stranger? There are all kinds of ways to leave someone, Lex. You'll find that out on your own, though I hope you never have to."

"You can't do this to her, not again. It's bad enough I have a sister I'll never know."

"You could, if you wanted to. If you'd stop letting your mother poison your mind."

"You're going to ruin everything, and for what?"

Al threw a twenty across the table to her. "Get whatever you want to eat. I'm not hungry. I have to go."

"When are you coming home?"

She got no reply, and he left before he could say something unforgivable they would both regret forever.

* * *

Kasia sat waiting on the edge of the bed in her windowless room. Kim had brought her some clean clothes, and it felt good to be fully dressed, the IV needles gone from her sore hands. She felt tender somehow, vulnerable, as if she'd been put through a meat grinder but come through whole.

She had sent Julian to get them some coffee, though caffeine was the last thing he needed right now, overwrought over Audrey and Athena and everything that had been done to Kasia. She had endured Manning's claustrophobic scans and was bristling with impatience, ready to simply slip away down the back stairs and be gone. Her reverie was shattered when Dr. Manning came bustling in, closing the door behind her.

"Well, this can't be good," Kasia quipped humorlessly.

"It isn't. The tests show a brain aneurysm. That's when a weak spot in your brain's arterial wall bulges and fills with blood-"

"I know what it is. A ticking time bomb, in my head. From the impact of the wreck?"

" I don't think so. Some aneurysms develop over the course of a person's lifetime, some are inherited, and some result from brain injuries. It looks like yours was inherited. Probably Marfan syndrome."

"Can you repair it?" Kasia shuddered at the thought of a shaved head and a drill piercing her skull.

"I'm afraid not. Not all aneurysms rupture, though. Around six million people in the United States have aneurysms that haven't ruptured. It isn't always fatal, and only forty percent of aneurysms that rupture are fatal. Many people live out their entire lives not knowing they have one." She handed Kasia a booklet. "Here's some information on how to live with an aneurysm, some things to watch for. Lifestyle changes you can make to lessen your chances of a rupture. Be alert about the warning signs, and get treatment immediately for the best possible outcome."

Kasia nodded impassively, turning the pamphlet over in her hands, her vision blurred with unwelcome tears. "Please don't tell anyone about this, Dr. Manning. I could lose everything." Manning squeezed Kasia' shoulder sympathetically, about to answer when Julian opened the door, stepping hesitantly in.

"Can she go now?" he said softly, eyes wide.

"Yes. Good luck, Sergeant. If you have any questions or concerns, contact me."

Kasia smiled tremulously, her eyes clearing. "I will. Let's get out of here, Jules."

"That could be a problem. The Feds are waiting outside, and someone from the Ivory Tower."

"I'll get rid of them," Manning offered.

Kasia sank down onto the bed again to wait, her bowels watery with fear from all she had just been told, her mind racing ahead to Plan B and Plan C that had not even been formulated yet. _What the hell do I do now?_


	14. Chapter 14

Kasia and Julian ran the gauntlet of reporters waiting to ambush them as they left the hospital, Kasia still reeling from the news she'd just been given, bombarded with mental images of the past 24 hours, a surreal sense of detachment from it all infusing her, as if she were watching everything from afar.

As soon as they returned to the bullpen Kasia made arrangements to have a rental car delivered, set Julian to work writing his report on the raids he had participated in, wrote her own report of the events at Mercer's Skokie property. Since there had been casualties, all the I's would have be dotted and the T's crossed since the Ivory Tower was already breathing down her neck, waiting for her to stumble, and now they had additional ammo with Audrey's defection and subsequent arrest.

"Are you gonna tell me what Dr. Manning said?" Julian asked Kasia unexpectedly as she was scrutinizing the M.E.'s report, which Audrey had left on her desk, her last act as a cop before Al had stripped her of her badge and gun, both of which were locked in Voight's desk upstairs now.

"Something that could destroy what's left of my career and get me bounced off the force on a disability pension," Kasia snapped. "Something I'm going to hide for as long as I can, unless it takes me down first. As soon as that car is delivered I'm going to the M.E.'s office to confer with Ruth Dwyer and retrieve the bones to be put back into evidence, then to East G-Park to give May Kenner the notification. Deniece Lee left me a message about Chynelle's last walk home from school. We'll need her as a material witness, so I've got to make contact with her."

"You're supposed to be on bedrest."

"Exactly where they want me. Not gonna happen. As soon as Mercer is physically able, he's due to be arraigned, and I want my shot at him first. Major Crimes is already moving in for the kill because he's a serial killer, and I want Intelligence credited for everything they've done for this unit, or what's left of it. If I'm going to get busted down for this case, I'm going out with a bang, not a whimper. And there's still Woods to deal with, and the wreckage of my house. This case has cost me in every possible way."

"Unreal, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Especially Audrey. I can't wrap my head around it. If she needed money, I would have gone to bat for a raise."

"I should have known. I knew she was moonlighting, I watched Emlyn enough times for her."

"She never once mentioned Mercer?"

"No. She was living above her means with no way to support it."

"She's probably into Mercer for debt, too. She'd better hope they don't come to collect. It's going to take months to unravel his syndicate, maybe years. I wonder why she told Al where to find me. She could have kept her mouth shut and flown under the radar."

"For now. Eventually all his associates will be unmasked."

"And there may be no way to forestall the riots when that happens. I love you like a brother, Julian, but don't walk near me in public right now. Someone's thinking about me a whole lot. I'm going to have to tell Al the same thing, and Arie."

"Are you going to tell Arie whatever Manning told you?"

"I have no choice. He could be looking at the same problem. He has a right to know."

"Bet he can't wait to shred Mercer on the stand."

"He'll probably never get the chance. Mercer's lawyers will claim conflict of interest. It's too bad, really; Mercer's top lawyer has been destroyed in court by Arie numerous times. It would have been poetry to watch."

They worked in silence until Kevin Atwater came down to give Kasia the keys to her rental car, and she thanked him for his diligence. "Platt wanted me to give you this," Atwater said, almost as an afterthought. He pulled a tiny, sealed envelope from his pocket. There was something hard inside.

"My ring," she breathed. "Where did Trudy find it?"

"She said someone tried to pawn it."

"Please thank her for me." Kasia dropped the envelope into the top drawer of her desk.

"Will do. Gotta jet."

Julian was adding all the names and photos of all the associates of Mercer they had rounded up so far on a new board, connecting their names to the businesses they had been involved with. Kasia felt a pang of angry misgiving, seeing Audrey's photo among them. Athena's empty bed came into view like an accusation when Kasia looked away from the board. "We're going to run out of room for them all," she mused before quietly exiting out the back door. A reporter was waiting to follow her, watching as she settled gingerly behind the wheel of the unfamiliar, rented sedan, the pain in her ribs dull and insistent.

* * *

Ruth Dwyer could spare Kasia little time, and touched briefly on the main points of her findings. Chynelle Kenner's hyoid bone had been broken, most likely to silence her before she died from blunt force trauma to the head. All four girls had been positively identified by the DNA results, though there had been little trace evidence left to work with.

"I heard about what happened to you. Shouldn't you be in the hospital?" Dwyer asked cautiously.

"Could you just lie around, with everything that's happening?"

"No. Probably not. Take care of yourself. Looks like you took quite a beating."

Kasia grinned at the clinical way Dwyer was looking over her bruised face, until the thought of the unlit fuse in her head came uninvited yet again to dominate her thoughts.

"Ruth, ever deal with corpses that died of a brain aneurysm?"

"A few. Not many. Why? Do you suspect one of your victims had an aneurysm? If that's Mercer's angle, I'll tear him apart in court."

"It's not. I just found out I have one. I'm desperate for someone to talk to who knows what it all means, someone who won't tell anyone else."

"Afraid you'll lose your job?"

"Among other things. Afraid I'll lose my identity, that I'll become 'the person with the aneurysm'. That people won't see me anymore."

"Those are valid concerns. What did the doctor tell you?"

"Not much. Some stats on survival. Gave me a pamphlet. If I don't drink, smoke, have sex or move around too much, I'll be fine."

Dwyer chuckled morosely. "Not an easy thing to live with. Seems to me you've already lived through the worst the world has to offer. Don't let this define you. We're all more than the sum of our parts." Dwyer smiled sagely at her. "He that cannot endure the bad will not live to see the good."

"Thanks, Rebbe," snickered Kasia. "I'll take that to heart."

"Good. You're going to be fine. Trust your instincts. I'll have Clara help you carry the evidence boxes out to your car. You really should slow down for a few days."

Kasia gave Dwyer a watery smile and left her wondering what other demons were snapping at Kasia's heels.

* * *

There was no police scanner in the rental car, so Kasia listened to a news station on the way to Garfield Park. There was a panel discussion regarding CPD corruption, the guest speakers speculating on how many more the unraveling of Mercer's enterprises would expose. The show host broke in to announce that Lieutenant Denny Woods had been released from the hospital.

"Shit," Kasia stuttered, pulling into a grocery store lot to absorb this bit of news and take some Tylenol with Codeine for her aching head and ribs. Her stomach roiled with nausea, and she nearly vomited the pills. She sat breathing deeply, her head pressed against the headrest, her eyes squeezed shut, remembering the euphoria that had overtaken her when Mercer's crony had injected her, the sense of invulnerability, the total absence of pain. How easy it would be to score in this neighborhood, in this white bread car, to all appearances just another suburban housewife slumming it for a fix…

"What the fuck am I doing," she moaned softly, cradling her aching head. Such thoughts could not be entertained, not even for a moment, pain be damned. That was a dead-end street. Still, she knew as resolutely as she turned away from such temptation, it would appear in her dreams, fleeting glimpses of the other world she had floated in for a time that she could never return to.

She bought a sandwich in the grocery store where she had sought refuge, and felt better after eating it, ballast for her drifting, directionless thoughts, enough to press on through the rest of the day.

* * *

Kasia wasn't surprised to see May Kenner already out the door and coming down the walk as she pulled up to the curb, watching soberly as Kasia struggled clumsily to exit the car.

"Where your fancy car at?" May asked with a vague note of disapproval.

'Wrecked." _By your daughter's killer._

"You hurt? You walkin' funny."

"Yes, ma'am. Broken ribs. Busted up head." _Bonus ticking time bomb inside._ Cold sweat broke out of every pore then. This part of the job was wrenching, and it never got any easier.

"You found her, didn't you? In that yard you dug up?"

Kasia sat down gingerly on the steps beside Mrs. Kenner, sucking in air through clenched teeth, wincing until the pain eased. "Yes. I'm so very sorry."

"Her teacher say you came by to talk. I know you gone the extra mile for my girl."

"She was a good girl, Mrs. Kenner. Mercer had his son lure her close enough to grab her and get her into the trunk of his car."

"Where?"

"The alley behind your house. She was likely killed within the hour, in Mercer's basement."

"All that afternoon, I waited, and she was already gone. All this time, she been right around the corner. I knew it."

 _And now she's only feet away, in the trunk of a car, again_. "We got the son of a bitch."

"Saw it on the news. When can I get her back, so I can bury her?"

"When the trial's over. I'll keep her safe for you until then."

"You find them other girls too?"

"Yes ma'am."

"You look done in. I been in touch with their mothers, over the years. Why don't you let me break the news? Might be easier, coming from another mother."

"It's against protocol, but I'm inclined to agree with you."

"You got some kinda juju, Sergeant."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the Lords and Souls and Insane Spanish. You done something to keep them from rioting. Everyone been bracing it for it. Some left town."

"Pray it holds. We still have the trial to get through. It's gonna be a powderkeg."

"He done all that to you, didn't he? Mercer? Your ribs? Those bruises?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you. For not giving up. For finding her."

Their arms went around each other. They were nearly the same size, and anyone passing might think them two old friends embracing, or two people who were kin somehow, unexpectedly reunited by something beyond either of their control.

* * *

Al stole away from his desk on the pretense of getting more coffee to watch for Kasia at the window. The coffee pot was empty and cold, like the sky.

When she finally pulled into the lot, he knew without asking what it was she carried by the careful way she walked, like a mourner in a processional moving past a congregation with an urn of ashes. Voight nudged Al. "How's she doing?"

Al shook his head. "She should still be in the hospital. She's black and blue all over."

"That one's a keeper, Al. Hang on to her."

"Lexi read me the riot act earlier, about her. About us."

Voight was silent. Kreczmar had sharpened Al in some way; pruned away what had so long weighed him down and remade him as he had once been, when they had first become partners. Al was like someone who had just returned from some amazing trip but wasn't quite ready to share the details just yet; still warm from the sun and untouched by the cold. Whatever was going on between Olinsky and Kreczmar was long overdue, and Voight hoped Al would take whatever action was necessary to protect it.

Voight grimaced then, his thoughts evolving painfully. The one person most likely to destroy Al's happiness wasn't Meredith, or Lexi, or the job, but the guy whose reflection in the window glared back at him. _Me, and Woods_.

* * *

"Julian, can you interview Deniece Lee? Mercer's mother just called me, and she wants to talk."

"Detective Baird, you may as relax. Those interviews aren't gonna happen," rumbled Lieutenant Woods from the stairs, heard before he was seen. He quickly crossed the bullpen, flanked by two suits, and stood towering over them, casting a shadow over the table.

"Sergeant Kreczmar, you're on paid administrative leave pending investigation of the incident in Skokie. You're also under house arrest for your attempt on my life. You'll be fitted with an ankle monitor, so I'd advise you not to leave town."

Kasia stared at them, incredulous. The two men in suits circled the table on either side like predators, ready to install the electronic shackle, their movements practiced.

"Get away from me," Kasia hissed. Before she could stumble from her chair, one of them twisted her arms behind her, setting new fires in her ribs, and she let out a piercing scream, flailing as the device was strapped onto her left ankle. She heard the rumble of footsteps overhead,

"Let go of her!" shrieked Julian. "Her ribs are broken!" He leapt onto the back of the one holding Kasia's arms behind her, digging his fingers into the man's eyes. The man let go, howling. "She just got out of the hospital!" spat Julian.

"So did I," Woods replied drily, "And she put me there."

"What the hell is this?" Platt broke in.

"They jumped her! They put an ankle monitor on her!"

"Go get Al, Julian. Hurry."

"Olinsky can't help her this time, Sergeant Platt, unless he wants to be charged as an accomplice."

Kasia was doubled over, uncontrollable tears rolling down her face, but she managed to lift her head. "I wouldn't count on it, Woods," she snarled, something so animal-like in her eyes that Woods actually cowered visibly, though he recovered quickly.

"Kreczmar is on paid leave until we sort out the events in Skokie, Platt. She's also under house arrest for taking a shot at me to hide her affair with Olinsky."

"Prove it," huffed Kasia, her arms folded tightly over her ribs. "If you had anything on me, I'd already be under arrest."

Platt felt a wave of pity for Kasia. She looked as if she might faint, and the strap on the ankle monitor was twisted and would trip her up constantly. "Everyone already knows about them, Woods," Trudy snorted, "and you have any number of enemies who'd probably love to take a shot at you. Hell, I'd be first in line."

"You want to join her with an ankle monitor of your own, Platt?"

"What the fuck is going on?" Al burst in, making straight for Woods, his hand resting on the butt of his gun. "Get away from her, Woods!"

"Back off, Olinsky, or I will shut down this entire district. Where will your truce with the G-Park Lords and the Black Souls be then? With all the internal arrests this house has made, we don't have the manpower to even make a dent when they all riot."

"That's what this is really all about, isn't it?" said Kasia tremulously. "You're pissed because the city of Chicago would rather see CPD corruption weeded out than dirtbags like Mercer waging war unchecked, pushing their dope, running their scams, getting away with murder-"

"Bet you wish you had some of that dope right about now," Woods gloated.

Kasia glared at him. "I should have known you were behind that, Woods."

"I warned you off this case. I warned you not to underestimate me. Move that hand one more time, Olinsky, and you'll be dead before you hit the floor."

"And you'll join him," growled Voight. Woods spun around. "Get the fuck out of my shop, Woods, and take your flunkies with you. You've got till the count of three to start moving toward the door. Three."

Woods swallowed with an audible click. "Don't leave town", he barked at Kasia, turning on his heel to show them all his back. The sound of Voight chambering a round became the loudest sound any of them had ever heard. No one breathed.

Woods and his entourage marched briskly to the door, Woods favoring his wounded shoulder, letting one of the suits pull the door open. Voight had won this round.

* * *

Al spoke to Kasia from some faraway place in that way that made her legs turn to gelatin. She watched his lips move, struggling for an answer.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?"

"Yeah." She nodded too vigorously, pain spiraling again. "I will be. Just give me a minute."

"I'm taking you back to the hospital. They released you too soon."

"No. I have to speak to Mercer's mother. Too much work to do." _Paid administrative leave. Cop-speak for buried alive._

"I can do it, Sarge."

"I can't go back to Indigo with this thing on my ankle. I'll make everyone there a target. If I stay here, Woods will come down on all of you."

A look passed between Platt and Voight. _Indigo_?

'Ruzek can get that thing off. Woods will never know you're not at home," said Al softly. "I'll have someone drop it in your mailbox."

"Okay." Kasia leaned gratefully against him, her heart speeding up at his closeness, warmth spreading through her despite the pain clawing at her ribs and head.

She remembered little of the next hour except the pain, and then a firm mattress beneath her and a pill slipped onto her tongue and the welcome bliss of relief.

* * *

Once Kasia was safely settled and asleep, Al began to relax a little, adrenaline from the encounter with Woods slowly draining away. He stretched out on the bed next to her, hands behind his head, letting his thoughts unravel. _I should just take her and go. Somewhere. Anywhere. Except for Lexi, and Michelle. And Hank. What am I willing to give up, to be with her_? He imagined them both in some quiet, small town with one main street, a small house with a white kitchen, kids riding up and down the sidewalk on bikes, neighbors waving to each other. Sunday mornings spent reading the paper with nowhere to rush off too. The nights with her, unhurried, neverending. The whole town scandalized when some kid brought a knife to school to show his friends, or two drunks kicking the shit out of each other at the tavern on the edge of town on a Saturday night. Headline news.

He rolled onto his side, watching her sleep. Her lips were parted slightly, as if she were about to smile. He kissed her bottom lip softly, the buzzing of a phone tearing him away.

He rose, digging into his jacket pocket for his phone. No recent calls. Must be hers. He hated to invade her privacy by delving into her bag, but the noise would wake her if he didn't. In his haste to answer the call the strap of her bag caught on his hand, and it was swept off the table, the contents upended onto the floor at his feet.

'Shit," he muttered, fumbling for the phone, a pamphlet catching his eye. He picked it up and turned it over, his eyes widening. _Living with an Aneurysm: Strategies and Survivability._

"Hello?" he said absently into the phone, gripping the pamphlet with shaking fingers. He sank down into a chair.

"Al? It's Arie. Is Kasia with you?"

"Arie. Yeah. We're at the Indigo Hour."

"Is she okay?"

"Rough morning. She's hurting. Glorianne gave her some pain medication. She wouldn't let me take her back to the hospital. She's been placed on administrative leave. She's sleeping now."

"What? Why?"

"For defending herself against Mercer's goons. It's bullshit. Woods tried to place her under house arrest with an ankle monitor."

"I'll get that overturned ASAP. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he lied, paging through the booklet with one hand. There was a graph on the third page, the dead versus the survivors. The dead were winning.

"Do you need me to come by?"

"No. I got this. She really needs to slow down for a few days. I'll have her call you back when she wakes up."

"Alright. Thanks, Al. Call me if you need anything."

Al ended the call, set the phone aside. Picked up Kasia's release papers from the floor. All her injuries were listed. A notation at the bottom of the last page in blue ink by Dr. Manning. _Pt. counseled re: inoperable aneurysm._ He scooped up the rest of her belongings and dropped them all back into her bag except for the booklet, which he read from cover to cover. A sound like a wounded animal escaped him, and Kasia shifted on the bed, a hand moving protectively over her ribs. From where he sat, the vivid bruise on her cheek was a blue-black shadow. Mercer had almost killed her, and now there was an unseen executioner in her head waiting to do it for him. Every minute they had from now on was borrowed, on loan to the girl whose birth had already beaten the odds of history.

He slid the pamphlet back into her bag. Was she going to tell him, or did she fear he would see her as doomed now? Defective? Disabled? He moved back to the bed, sat smoothing her hair until she sighed. He couldn't survive losing her, which made them equally doomed. Her phone buzzed again.

"Al? It's Julian. Max Mercer's mother says she won't speak to anyone but Kasia."

"I'll tell her," he said dismally, shutting off her phone and crawling back into bed with her.


	15. Chapter 15

Al was jolted roughly back from someplace halfway between wakefulness and the beginnings of a dream by the buzzing of his phone, and he contemplated throwing it out the window until he saw Voight's face on the caller I.D.

"Al. I know you're taking care of your lady right now, but you need to know. Mercer is in the wind."

"What? How? We had guys all over that floor!"

"Inside job. One of the maintenance men at Med is in Mercer's pocket. Entered the room on a ruse, used some bolt cutters to get the cuffs off. The uni posted on the door came in to see what was what and the jagoff clocked him."

"He live?"

"Barely. In the ICU. Two others were shot, one is critical. Place is crawling with Feds who want their taste. Mercer had people waiting in every stairwell and on every floor. Well executed op."

"He's desperate. This is his last stand. Where are you now?"

"Med. Watching the security footage. When word hits the streets, the truce Kreczmar negotiated will be off. The press has agreed to a temporary media blackout, but it won't hold."

 _Good. Let the Lords and Souls fight over his carcass,_ thought Al. "Where do you want me?"

"Right where you are. He's probably headed your way. Atwater and Upton are en route."

"Al?" Kasia said, her voice soft and scratchy from sleep and medication.

"I'll keep you posted," Al said into the phone and ended the call. "Yeah, sweetheart? Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

"You have to go get them, Al. Lexi and Michelle. Your wife. He'll go after them just to draw us out. Who is Voight sending?"

"Kevin and Hailey."

"Don't wait, then. Go. Take them all somewhere safe, somewhere no one will connect to you, or them-"

"I'm not leaving you here."

"You have to. It's not up for discussion. It's your family. Go. now, before Mercer figures out you're here." She rose shakily from the bed. "See, I'm okay. I feel a lot better. Really, I do."

"You're a terrible liar. Another thing to love about you."

"They need you more than I do right now. That's not a lie. I'll be safe here. Go and get them, please. They're easy targets."

He realized then how much she demanded a certain level of intimacy and communication that he hadn't been held to before, with anyone. In a lot of ways this seemed like his first adult relationship, and he loved her for it. He understood the unspoken choice she was offering him. Somehow she knew without being told that Lexi had confronted him, that he had unfinished business with Meredith, that his kids were the most important things in life and that they could lose each other because of them, and how it would kill them both. Al stood speechless, wracked with indecision. How could he just leave her here?

"Because you have to," she answered, though he had said nothing. He kissed her, whispered something that sounded like goodbye into her ear. She still had the earrings on, but he could care less who might be listening. A memory rose up in him of the night he came home to find Meredith held at gunpoint in their living room, about to die as revenge for a case Intelligence had been in the middle of. In his mind the image of Meredith became Lexi, and Kasia told him with her eyes that she loved him enough to let him go, forever if need be, though he never would, no matter what it cost.

"Go," she whispered urgently, feigning a smile of encouragement.

"Stay in here. Wait for Atwater and Upton."

She nodded uncertainly, and he was gone.

* * *

Her house had a disused smell to it, like no one had been here in months. Kasia had no time to dwell in it, making straight for the basement. Her sniper rifle was right where she had left it. Sometimes the Feds left a stone or two unturned. The ankle monitor she had retrieved from the mailbox was now in her coat pocket.

From the top shelf of her bedroom closet she pulled down two black cases, one containing a couple of foam-packed flash grenades and the other a canister of tear gas. There was an extra box of ammo for the rifle that she had forgotten was there, and a length of rope. She stuffed the works into a large rucksack and hauled it all out to the car after changing quickly into warm clothes and tying her hair back so the earrings were clear.

She had just pulled out of the driveway when her phone buzzed. It was Julian. Her heart sank a little, wishing it was Al. How quickly he had become the center of her universe; how equally quickly he could be gone from her life if the pressures of family proved to be too much. She could think no more in it now.

"Hey."

"Hey. I wanted you to know I had a very interesting talk with Mercer's mother."

"Tell me."

"The annotated version: Mercer's father made his mother give up Mercer's disabled sister, Misty, when Mercer was ten. Misty was profoundly autistic, and Mercer was devoted to her. She was abused in the group home they dumped her in, and CPS was involved. After that, the trail goes cold. It's as if she dropped off the face of the earth. Mercer wasn't allowed to pursue it when he was CPD, though he tried. Even hired private detectives. He never got over losing her, and neither did his mother. His dad was a real ballbreaker. Military. Very OCD."

"That explains a lot."

"Especially Mercer's indifference to the fate of his victims."

"This is gold, Julian. Well done."

"Where are you?"

"About to lead Mercer on a merry chase. He's in the wind."

'What?"

"You didn't hear?"

"No. I just got back to the district."

"Stay there, and don't leave. Go upstairs to Intelligence."

"Where are you headed?"

"Someplace I can make a stand outside a populated area. Trust me. Tell them to monitor the bodycams." She could hear Julian breathing on the other end.

"Okay. I'll be watching, too. Good luck, Sarge."

"Any word on gang movement?"

"None yet. Maybe they haven't heard."

"Pray it holds. I have to get a confession. It's almost over, Julian." She ended the call, heading east.

* * *

"What's this about, Al? What's really going on?" Meredith's face was mottled with anger.

"It's about a suspect who is currently on the hunt who won't hesitate targeting family members. Just trust me."

"What are you really doing here?"

"I'm trying to look out for you, okay? Where's Lexi? I asked you to get her here, too."

"She's on the way."

"I'm taking you both to a safe house. I want you to stay there until we get this guy. Both of you."

"Were you followed?"

"No, but we have to hurry."

"So you can get back to _her_?"

"So I can get Michelle someplace safe, too."

"Are you kidding me right now?"

"She's my daughter, Meredith. I'm not gonna just leave her defenseless. Let's just not talk until this is over, okay?"

Lexi came rushing in then, flushed and wide-eyed, and Al was spared any further conversation. He hustled them out to the car, his eyes so dark and filled with foreboding that Meredith was afraid to say anything more.

* * *

Kasia could recall few instances when she had felt his cut off from the world, the desolate surroundings mirroring her mood. Being injured had always made her feel vulnerable, and the revelation from Dr. Manning ate away at her resolve like spiritual blood loss. She uttered the _Shema_ just above a whisper, the familiar words a cold comfort.

Chicago was a city in miniature in the distance, the skyline like children's toys haphazardly arranged and left waiting, the sky itself empty, pale gray-blue, the ground encrusted with untouched, thin snow. No one had been out here in a long time; there were no tire tracks or footprints but her own.

Kasia stood before an old, abandoned grain elevator. She had been here once before as a kid. Tired of glimpsing it only from a distance as they passed on the expressway, she and Arie had cajoled their father into letting them see the place up close, and he had indulged them in an hour of playing knights defending the tower, though he would not allow them to go inside. Kasia smiled at the memory.

It was even colder inside, the air close and still. Kasia shouldered the rucksack and sniper rifle, making her way over to the one-man personnel elevator, which was little more than a dumbwaiter, bits of forgotten grain crunching beneath her boots like long dead insects. The pulleys on the elevator appeared sound, but the old rope was weakened, and pulling herself up was going to hurt like hell. It was either that or the ice-covered rungs of the outer stair that clung to the side of the structure. A fall from that in the wind would hurt far worse.

She stepped into the cage and closed the door, making the first tentative pulls on the rope, hand over hand, until pain loosened her grip and the cage landed with a sick thud that left her panting in agony.

"Come on," she snarled at herself viciously. "Just do it. Don't feel." She inhaled, then held her breath, hoping her inflated lungs would pad her ribs against some of the pain. Halfway up, she clung wheezing, hanging suspended, tears tickling her cheeks. Not moving hurt worse than moving now, and she finished the ascent, gritting her teeth so hard she could hear them cracking.

The door that opened onto the outer catwalk that circled the structure halfway up was frozen shut by time and weather, and that meant more gnawing on her broken ribs as Kasia fought to wrench it open. It was only by pulling the doorknob up with all her strength and lifting the door in its frame that she was able to pry it open, and her cries of pain reverberated throughout the place. She stood listening to them die away and wondered if Al had gotten his kids to safety yet. Her phone was silenced, and she would not look at it.

The wind was bitter out on the catwalk, though there was a freshness in it that hinted of spring. She could see for miles, and no one would approach in secret here. She had left the ankle monitor in the rental car. Kasia set up her gear, adjusted the sight on her rifle. Now all she had to do was wait, and try not to think of Al, and Arie.

* * *

"This place is amazing," Michelle gushed. "Like something from a movie. How did you find it?"

"I've been staying here with...someone."

"Someone special?" Michelle asked guardedly, clear eyes boring into him.

"Not having that conversation right now." Al cringed at the thought of the recriminations he knew were coming. They didn't.

"Is she nice?"

"Yeah."

"A cop?"

"Yeah."

"How long can I stay here?"

"As long as you want. I've been looking for an excuse to get you away from the friend of a friend. No more couch surfing. You're gonna eat regularly and finish school. You can fight me on it all you want, but that's how it's gonna be."

"Can I keep boxing?"

"Yeah. You have talent."

"Can I meet her? Your...friend?"

"You will, as soon I find her. She was supposed to stay here until the threat is neutralized."

"You mean until the guy is caught?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds like something I'd do. Take off. She doesn't take orders from you. I like her already," smirked Michelle.

"Don't be getting any ideas. I'm trying to keep you safe here, Michelle."

"I know. I was just kidding around." She paused thoughtfully. "I think this is the longest conversation we've ever had." She gazed up at him, head tilted to one side. It was unnerving how like Lexi it was.

"I'd like to change that." Al smiled sadly at her.

"Me too."

He watched her for a moment. She was nothing like him, or her mother. Very much an individual, self-contained but still wounded from all the instability life had thrown at her, especially the absence of her mother, who had made a lot of mistakes, mistakes Al intended to rectify if he could, if she finally gave him the chance.

"I know you have to go," she said softly.

"Detective Upton will be right outside. If you get hungry, pick up the house phone. Order whatever you want. When I get back, we'll talk about nearby schools."

"Are you still gonna stay here?"

"Yeah." _For now_.

"Okay. Thanks." She surprised him by throwing her arms around him. This could be the fresh start with her Al had been hoping for since had first been made aware that she existed. He couldn't make up for all the lost years, but he could make it right between them going forward. He held onto her longer than was necessary, a gesture that was not lost on her, and he felt a little more of her resistance crumbling. Just another thing to add to the list of positive changes Kasia had brought to his life.

Voight and Atwater were waiting for him in the parking garage, and they sped off toward the coordinates Ruzek had texted, grimly silent.

* * *

Kasia paced the catwalk to keep her muscles warm and loose, watching the distant freeway through her rifle sight until there was movement in her direction. Her lip curled at the sight of the same green sedan that had pursued her and caused the wreck that killed Athena and her broken ribs and revealed the weakness in her head that she would have otherwise remained blissfully unaware of.

She had parked the rental car behind the grain elevator, hoping to draw them as close to the structure as possible, and it appeared they would take the bait. She dropped into a defensive stance and took aim, getting a bead on the driver's side tire. The tire blew out with a bang and the impact of the shot shattered the front windshield, and the car spun half a revolution on the ice. She lobbed a flash grenade, the force of the throw screaming through her chest like a thousand dull, relentless knives. The detonation tore through her skull, rocking her back onto her heels. She drew the rifle up again, watching as the smoke cleared. The driver was slumped over the wheel, his passengers neutralized.

The descent down the elevator was just as painful as going up had been, nausea rolling through her gut, sweat beading on her brow. She cut several lengths of rope when she reached the ground and quickly bound the hands of the driver and Mercer's kapo in the front seat, taking their guns and phones. Both had a pulse. Mercer was in the back, his profile still as stone. Kasia reached into the car and popped the trunk, moaning as she shakily lifted out Mercer's wheelchair and rolled it around to the side of the car where he sat sprawled and motionless.

She pulled the door open, coughing once at the sulfurous smoke still in the air from the grenade. She slapped Mercer's face several times to bring him around, dismayed at the pleasure she felt. His nose was taped and his eyes blackened from the blow Al had struck in the hospital, and Kasia felt a wave of pure love for Al then that warmed her all the way down to her toes.

"Wake up," she bellowed. Mercer groaned once, head lolling, mouth slightly open.

"Mercer! Wake up, before I shoot you in the head. Open your eyes!" He was probably still deafened fro the flash grenade; her own ears were ringing and burning. She toed the brake on the wheelchair into place and dragged Mercer's dead weight laboriously from the car. He landed sideways in the chair, his hand dragging through the snow. She pushed and pulled, jostling the chair over the ice toward the grain elevator, tasting blood as her tongue was caught between her teeth from the effort.

When at last they reached the main floor of the grain elevator, she wedged the door shut behind them with a makeshift shim she made from a discarded bit of metal scrounged from a shadowy corner, then sank to her knees for half a minute, begging the pain to pass. She rose, stooped, and staggered back to Mercer. His eyes fluttered open, then closed again.

Kasia scanned the area, found an old crate to sit on and dragged it over, waiting for him to regain consciousness. Cold sunlight slanted in through the gaps in the structure, dust motes dancing like clouds of golden gnats. She watched them until she felt Mercer's eyes on her.

"I've always hated Jews," he drawled drunkenly. "Playing the government like puppets. Controlling the courts and the media."

"Yeah, it's funny," Kasia countered. "I still haven't gotten my TV station or the part of the world I'm entitled to control as a Jew or a cushy government job. I'll have to file a complaint with the Council of Elders." She pulled one of the guns she had taken off the men in the car from her rucksack, turning it over in her hand, studying it before cocking it. A Glock. Expensive.

"That's why we're here, isn't it? All that Jewish anger and perpetual martyrdom?" he sneered.

"No, Mercer. We're here because of Chynelle Kenner, and Misty."

Mercer straightened, his eyes flashing. "Don't say her name."

"She's how we ended up here, Max. They put her in a place she didn't belong in, and she paid the ultimate price. Her, and Chynelle, and those other girls you killed. But nothing could ever quell the guilt you felt because you were too young and powerless to stop dear old dad from sending her away. He drove her to another state and dumped her out like garbage."

"I tried to find her," Mercer mewled piteously. It was the kind of revelation every Cold Case detective fights for, when the emotional scar tissue finally splits and reveals the festering wound beneath that never healed. He went on, speech dragging like a stroke victim. "I took the bus to Scranton by myself, but she wasn't there, she wasn't anywhere. He lied to mom, he lied to me. He lied to everyone. He would have no imperfect children, no damaged goods. Not what he signed up for. All was order in his world."

"I know. And by the time you found out where she might be, it was too late. You became a cop for that sole purpose. She became a cold case, just like the girls you killed. You wanted someone else to feel the pain you felt, to wonder where they were, to lay awake nights in agony of mind while the worst possible scenarios played out in their heads like waking nightmares. Your daughter Amelia's death was just the catalyst for all that latent hate and anger. You wanted revenge-"

"You're damned right I did!" Mercer's mouth clamped shut on what he had never meant to say. Kasia smiled in satisfaction.

"And now you've got it. Your mother knows everything you've done, and why." _Ruzek, I hope you're getting all this._ Kasia watched him, gun trained on his forehead, knowing he was gathering himself for a move. They were both wounded, and it would be a desperate fight.

"I'm going to solve Misty's case, Mercer. Not for you, but for her. For Chynelle."

"For Amelia," he hissed, coiled to spring from the chair until the sound of approaching sirens pushed him back down like an unseen hand.

"I'm going to solve her case, and you're going to allocute in court, otherwise I'm going to take you deep into Lords territory and dump you there after I tell them where to find you. Do we have a deal?"

Outside, Atwater was out of the car first, surveying the scene. He sidled over to Al. "Your girlfriend is a badass," he quipped. Al's eyes shone with a smile.

"Kasia!" called Al, the wind tearing her name away.

Voight's phone jangled. "Yeah. Ruzek." He listened for a few seconds, his expression inscrutable, then turned to Al. "Kreczmar got a confession."

"In here," Kasia called back, her voice a tinny echo from inside the grain elevator. There was an audible struggle to open the door. Al was the first in, the wind whipping the door from his hand; it clanged like an old bell, the sound enveloping them all.

Mercer had his hands up, gazing at the ground. Kasia lowered her weapon, her eyes meeting Voight's. He nodded perfunctorily, his phone still in his hand. "Ruzek. Send a couple ambos to this location."

"Is this your idea of administrative leave?" Al asked her, laughing. Kasia grinned guiltily.

"I'll get the Commander to overturn it," said Voight, "though I'll recommend you stay on medical leave for a while."

"Not too long," she retorted. "I have another case to solve first." Kasia and Mercer exchanged a knowing glance that left Al bewildered. He was dying to ask, but it could wait till later.

* * *

The next few days were idyllic for Kasia, getting to know Al's daughter, ignoring the warnings in her heart as they became a sort of ad hoc family. She knew it couldn't last, but she intended to enjoy it while it did, and her musings of moving to some anonymous place with Al grew naturally to include Michelle.

Before she left town to hunt down Mercer's sister, a candlelight vigil for Chynelle Kenner was held in East Garfield Park, organized by May Kenner, Lemarcus and several high ranking members of the Lords. It was a solemn, reverent affair, and security was tight, provided by both the Lords and CPD. So many people turned out that the streets were filled like some enormous block party. Kasia kept a low profile, refusing May Kenner's offer to publicly honor her, and she slipped away into the crowd early to leave the mourners consoling each other. The tentative peace would be short-lived, but perhaps seeds had been planted that may one day bear fruit.

Kasia's own sense of inner peace began to heal along with her injuries, though it too would suffer setbacks. Mercer was off the streets, but Woods was still out there, watching.


End file.
